Club Twenty-Seven

 

Club Twenty-Seven

Thoughts run from acidic to basic

Rubbed raw with strong lye soap

Dressed and prepared for sacrifice

…I deny myself.

My heart will go on beating

Though my body's laid to waste

My soul flayed piece meal daily

An offering of conventionality

…I deny myself. 

They will not find me splayed

Naked on a public stair, Aztec style

As our pop culture god-men are allowed…

This a snuff film viewed by a crowd

Of a couple hundred well wishers

…I deny myself.

I choose the weapon of my undoing

From an assortment, years in the making…

A noose of lace

A cubicle board iron maiden

And a tv dinner for one with a trace of botulinum

…I deny myself.

I take the lace

Step to the altar and seal my fate

My own Shroud of Turin

In this sacred place

Dead at twenty-seven.

~Darkling Plain, Oct. 13, 2006