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Image for the poem Let me erase your pain

Let me erase your pain

She had laid her fragile vessel across the dark onyx floor,    
within the cellar of rejuvenation.      
     
Her ethereal astral rib cage had her soul    
dancing in the flames of dictatorship;      
it was using her memories as thread,      
her tears were the needles,      
and her misery was the fabric being sown into it.      
     
I hoisted her up onto a translucent mood barber chair,      
the current hue was scarlet.      
     
I began tying her ankles and wrist with her agony,      
reminding her of the pain      
she has accumulated,      
invoking introspection.      
     
My left foot pressed down      
on the lever attached to the barber chair,      
pulling the back end of the chair,      
arching her back upwards on the chair;      
she began to bellow out inner torment,      
as the alignment took place.      
     
I had grabbed a pair of clear dainty scissors.      
Her body began to twitch and resist in      
an uncontrollable urge,      
the convulsing was commencing,      
the more I neared her back.      
The more her ethereal astral rib cage was exposed,      
and was attached to her spine, invoking distraught.      
     
I began to clip and snip the rustic girdles      
soul-bound metallic cords. The more I clipped away at her,      
the more her body recoils and discharges anguish;      
now the lever on the faucet is broken, her nightmares      
are leaking out of her ethereal astral rib cage.      
     
Each droplet that dripped out of her,      
projected a scenario that encompassed those dreadful nights,      
her anxiety was captivated that night.      
     
The chair's hue began to change,      
and it's mood became indifferent,      
evoking coherent translucence.      
     
If one was to lay on their back,      
you'd become the spectator      
of her chronological misery;      
viewing each reel,      
like an electronic shop      
that has setup their T.V.s      
on the display window,      
in the amount of 30,000,      
a plethora of sadness.      
Each memory became a pair pale hands      
typing on a celestial typewriter,      
the fabric for the parchment was my mind;      
each letter, and each keystroke that was made,      
sundered understanding of her,      
like a javelin piercing mental armor.      
     
She threw her right pupils at me,      
like a baby seeing their mother die,      
evoking urgency. The pupil split      
into two, forming a mouth.      
I was able to make out what it said,      
by reading it's forest green lips,      
"help me", were the words that lurked      
into me. I started to hasten my efforts.      
     
Finally, I was clipping the final cord;      
her eyes transcended into a movie theater,      
emulating a turquoise rift, an entrance to her mayhem.      
I went to peak inside of it,      
I was then transmitted inside of it,      
because it vacuumed me into it.      
     
I was in her subconscious,      
a hall of memories; portraits      
of each instance, hung on the wall      
of perpetual remembrance.      
     
As I delved deeper,      
I observed a grey wall,      
it listed "the forgotten",      
her desires,      
and goals were portrayed,  
 they're covered in metallic cords;      
asphyxiating their existence.      
I reached in my left blue pocket,      
retrieving my clear scissors.      
They began to pulse in a red hue,      
the more I neared the portrait.      
     
I started to decimate each cord;      
as each one fell,      
it began to hiss in disgust,      
before disintegrating.      
The last cord was unplugged now,      
transferring me back to the cellar.      
     
Lenore was on the floor with      
her charcoal hair shading the      
alabaster complexion on her forehead.      
     
I picked her up, and leaned her forehead onto mine.      
Her eyelids unlocked, and our eyes began to interlock.      
Her pupils began to split into two again,      
time wasn't spared, "thank you."      
I kissed her forehead, and cradled her back to reality,      
as my chest became the nest, for which she'll feel safe      
to roam around, before venturing on.
Manley_Pointer
Written by Manley_Pointer
Published | Edited 29th Nov 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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