Lorenzo Buford
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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. |
