simmering squid

I am a heavy

Pile of

grey stones

A clump of cells

Hot as magma

I am

A bleeding peice 

of dead meat

On a baking sheet

I call my bed

Or on a plate

I call my sofa

What good 

Can i do 

Of myself

With myself

When i feel

Like a boiled

Stripped meal

A skinned animal

And the herds

And crowds

Sing along

With my shouts

I am a coocked 

Swollen squid

A mismatched

Unfinished being

I feel my limbs 

hanging thick

Heavy from my neck

Slippery and squishy

And numb

And pale

My limp limbs

No longer looking

No longer searching 

My blank

feelings done

In this boiling 

deafening pot

I am 

the coocker

I am the boiler

Drowning in 

my own skin

And in such a folded

tight space

I am emptied out

i forget everything

i have ever learnt

or ever heard

About crawling out

or talking to be heard

And i feel my soft 

Triangle head

Heat and shred

Into something 

that isn't black

It isn't gray

It just isn't 

Like how the blind

Dont see black

Just a nothing

And even though

through

Blurred and laced

Red pearl eyes

I see

A dissapearing world

I turn my skull down

To the metal

Beneath my crown

As i let the blood 

color me

Name me in pink

I am 

a beautiful vision

as i shrink

And let the world 

be left dead 

behind

my aimless, hopeless

geometrical head

Boiled to bed

I could never do

or be anything 

of what we said