dark dreams and angles

It is  my tale so I will tell it. 
It is one thing to observe and another to be and experience it. Either way you are changed.

 See,I was present to my hanging. The sentence once read, was carried out  with  pageantry and song, a happy masquerade by the denizens of this 'Verse.     

And being the guest of honour , It could not start without me .( it has been noted by those whose  art I am subject to that

 The hope best  and most pleasing to the crowd is the one shattered. And that

 the most ardent petitioner is always at the end of his rope. )

And so.. 

                                       The stage was set -

 The flames lit and  minds teased into breathless anticipation,by rumor and and nervous chatter.yet these would proove but pale shadows to the real.( i have been here before... watched joints pulled apart. when the bowels give over , and the strong appears week. when fair maidenns bubble and pop like candles.r own doom 
and their screeches remind you of you
 If they really wanted to be enthralled they needed to be in my chair.

Because Damned and Damning Hope, behind my blindfolded eyes was there  still. A rapid and flighty pulse in my chest, the thrill of anticipated reprieve or ultimate desecration. Hope at the precipice.

 The executioners tools were ready . gleaming in the stark unforgiving sunlight .Sentient and seductive, these blood thirsty metals ; laid on simple and workmanlike surfaces of wool, wood and steel.

 Seeing them . you cannot turn your eyes away. you feel a serpents cold lick on the underside of your breastbone . right above your heart.and sense of horrified wonder  even as your guts heave..you will wonder

For now you know what the true torture holds for you ,what the torturer wields

 the true tools of the trade are WHAT YOU BROUGHT WITH YOU!

 it is not the glinting metal all sharp and shiny . or the blunt and rusted, dirty brown blade.

 these are not the tools of your torturer. No, no no no no. Let me enlighten you.

 It is not the red hot pokers hot and dry breath that crackles your skin.

 Or the rough edged and intricate knives that will rip the squeals from your creature self.

 No.my friend. It is what you bring. Going away.Slowly. Surely. Bit by bit. In impossible and mesmerizing sequence.

 It is those things that you had always thought were essential to you being you. You bring these things to your own undoing.

 you are the torturers  greatest and most perfect tool .You are his instrument. Your perceived strength is his/her joy.

your sense of self is flayed from your soul

 Your ego gets ripped in parenthesis  and

 Your manhood ,your self hood...

 you loose this when the first scream leaks form your lips. Of course that had to go. Welcome to the poetry of pain. the time lapse subjective of the destroyed.

 everything gets reduced .and at the same time transformed into higher metaphor. all that you claimed was really authentically you..Your pride. your integrity. your fame. your skill .your ability to be that person who once bore your name.......are you enlightened yet??

 well let the screams begin . Let your weeping; that deep rooted biological reaction spawned by nature and nurture, to turn hearts and hands to your help, feed instead a disgust and contempt from those you held most dear. Let your sweet breathe that once was a much ignored but sweet spring of life . turn to  gasps of burning air that fuel your pain.

 My disgusted and contemptuous friend. 

 it is not what they bring to the table-  it is what you bring with you .there lies the true  torture.

 your pride . your ego . it all goes when your eyes swivel in impossible directions to try and NOT see what has just irrevocably and messily left the building . You will be present during the demolition of your edifice . You will be here and pray for madness. except that, that is the one blow that promises that you never were and never can be , 

 so do you see why i needed to say this?

 because i can never say this again.