Lorenzo Buford

Imaginary Poet


Screaming Faces

I am falling through the cracks;
and I can't tell anyone
about the screaming faces
inside me.
I paint a new face on everyday.
     The noises that make up the world
         are like leeches on my skin.

Dark images
are spiraling around me;
and I cannot utter the chant
to ride these night mares
and be the rider instead of being ridden.

Former lovers have become
      roaches and flies
        and rain on me
           like a plague
                  from a jealous god.

Faces from sorcerers
and dead porn stars
whose remains I have held in my hand
before night dripped off my skin
whisper to me from my four walls.

The names they conjured me into
     have a siren allure
        as I bring others to
           their dark natures that haunt them
                   like voices riding on their shoulders.

And I'm soaked
in the illusion of shame
because I touched
my dark places.

And screams erupt
like boils, like lesions.

And I smile at the world
so they don't see the crack
that I'm falling into.

Rooms in the sexual underworld
     Are where fragments of myself
        exist
           and I am enveloped by the Voices
               that don't belong to me.

The Voices are conjuring me
so that I may wear their face.

The Voices hide their names in words
that I offer to friends as a gift.

So many Voices are screaming in me
and no can hear me
because I am in mouths
that will not let me speak

and

crippled angels,
exiled gods;
and Madness
want my face and name.

So many screams
are erupting inside
and
each is attempting to master my face.

And I look for the fire
that will cleanse my names.

I am screaming.

Can you hear me?

I am screaming - screaming.

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