“Found Locked”
“Locked corridors lead where,” said the man from behind the keyhole?
Downloading diskette of putrid, petrified wood, sunken into floor of thirteenth century English castle, has brought back demon to strengthen heart of home Prime Minister’s ministry of hollow homicide confined to area of nine feet by nine x nine.
Hear the door of reality slam shut upon their tiny, pulsing, fingers reaching towards the Temple of empty heart attack patient’s artery, infested with slime of maggot breath lost down through dry cracks of eyelid corrosion; from fluid drainage and pipe wound bleeds - from naval cord wrapped around waist as a belt of honor and decomposing flesh draws birds to swoop, plunging beak through eye socket - draining brain tissue through nasal passages and thus...
...Door slams shut to reveal center of confused man, crying alone in corner; holding head in arms he screams, moaning name of dead lover; conscious of action, persuaded to his nature, diverse personality leads to behavioral disorder - where man mourns death of mind an no one real - Schizophrenia takes hold of older gentleman down on one knee, praying to god he hasn’t believed in years, twitching arm of epileptic child, as daze penetrates his puny skull, unleashing consequences of hatchet murders and acid flashbacks; where insanity is sane to most extent, love is thought rather emotion.
Door slams to become locked as next door opens.
Two lovers holding hand, taking stroll, truck turns abruptly, to swerve tiny forest animal, striking dead the lover from whose hand she held, instant moment of silence reveals all emotions past and present; regret and form of conspiracy, love lost in an instant due to misfortunate accident of other’s negligence, sparing his to take yours, you would have chosen, but mind is Jell-O as it creeps aside whispering final tone of kindness, “I love you,” the twisted mound of rotting screaming flesh utters, holding heart in hand, it raises to you as offer of devotion, instant drift away, forever gone to dwell below Earth and grass, never to see their face again.
“This is where locked corridors lead,” said I.
Einheit Invictus
a.k.a. Matthew G. Schinzel, Sr.
Copyright: October 30, 1992
OB30L Solo
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