Soliptitude

His mouth was tied with string, shut against all songs
Honesty only in glances, by chance some would follow
The deep growls of a soul clenching...unclenching...tightly wound
The shifting friction of lidless eyes on a carpet of sky-sweat-stained grey fog
Overhearing whispers of pointless inconsistencies
Wondering at a contradiction who lately takes on the form of a sad smile
And the brightest most pointed glimpses of
Some sort of intoxicating rhythm
Indistinguishable from that of two hearts slowly aligning
Moment by moment, the shattered scraping of glass
As the walls, built quite quickly with practice, shift smoothly down as ice in Spring
More than melting, molding themselves into a metaphysical metamorphosis
Of time and space and the shadowed curve of a hint of her face
And an utter disassembling of reason
An intolerantly bittersweet kind of treasonous serendipity
The weight of claws at the utmost edges of his mind
Every thought convoluted by sensation and pregnant pauses
Itching enticements of callous disregard for the simple and irrefutable fact
That this is killing the poor man
And yet the drill stays on, a siren song just before his ear
Right there at his temple, right there where he feels
Then in waking, he almost misses the lucidity of it all
As "real life" is only a metaphor for cement, manure, and acid rain
Secondhand smoke to a simple dream of finding her hand in his
And he would dare to here cry out "Alas! Alas!"
But as I stated, his lips are otherwise occupied
Being tied up with string and all
Y'know...these things happen
And the clock tocks twice for every tick