Poetry Attempt: The Continued Nightmare of Being

 Human beings were a cosmic mistake and bringing new life into this world should be a hangable offense. Here's a new poem. 

Birthday

My phantom limb dissolves

Evaporating into the careening chandelier 

Hanging from stretched umbilical cords

Held together with pulpy, burnt sinew.

Dimming pink light 

So I can’t see my own shadow creep up on me,

My fingernails are forming; sharpened and ready

To peel at the muscles coating the walls,

Cup the dripping, unidentifiable fluids

And burst through this horrid little

Flesh-colored bubble that

I’ve found myself trapped in. 

I’m wailing without lungs

Weeping without tear ducts,

Feeling every nuanced reverberation around me

Without any sense of time or space,

Starving from refusal of the 

Masticated, lumpy regurgitation

Fed through an undulating tube

Connected to my underdeveloped stomach lining. 

But a vague ambition begins to take violent hold of me,

A glorious vision of dramatic transformation

An unexplainable eagerness to exist.

I would close my eyes and dream of an escape, 

If it weren’t for my lack of eyelids.

There’s rumbling and anger stirring below my attic hatch,

Strewn together with tiny chips of bones

And twisting, pumping veins.

Between my toes, distended organs squelch and bubble.

Is anyone still looking for me? 

The further I extend my hand, the more the walls

Of my confines stretch and give

With no possibility of giving way.

In my electrifying brain, these words repeat and echo

Through my soft, malleable skull;

“When you hear the screaming, 

And the dripping of water,

Then you will know it is time.

This warm spherical catacomb will burst

And fall apart.”

Something tells me

I won’t be alone on the other side. 

A blast of a heartbeat,

Irregular shock,

Throbs and churns through

My familiar cavern of isolation.

Is it time? 

No.

Something’s wrong. 

Below the attic where my form 

Of corruscating cells split and painfully multiple,

Where, out of biological slimy shadows,

My mask is carefully chiseled 

Like a parasitic growth overtaking 

The beatific solitude of nonexistence,

The infinitesimal holes in my head hear glass shattering,

An explosive, profoundly resonating bang

And indistinguishable screams of lunacy,

Regret-filled agony.

Then, the only world I’ve known 

Shakes and spins aggressively,

Gravity rushing in, I’m tumbling through nonsense

And the great, gnawing unknown. 

A fleshy splat,

Snapped neck and distorted ligaments,

The narrow, wound-shaped attic hatch bursts open 

Light searing, a flashbulb of reality 

And premature existence. 

The undeniable shock of exposure. 

I wasn’t yet meant to be seen.

My twitching confines breathe its last breath

As blood fills her throat.

I’m pink and coiled, soaked with fluids, and unformed

Dying next to my creator,

Cracked staircase spiraling into blinding light in front of us
The fading silhouette of a man with a smoking pistol

Perched on top. 

Saved from the nightmare of this world,

I scream without making a sound 

And walk on tiny broken limbs

Into the all-consuming sun. 

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