Another Audition for the Role of the Antagonist

Spin the wheel.

Patiently await.

There’s a clip of silver bullets tucked into a winning slice.

Wash those weary eyes.

Give it another go,

with inquisitive eyes shining down a microscope’s narrow focus.

I can feel searing overhead lights drilling a hole in my shields,

unburdened as I’m strapped at the ankles,

floundering above the waist while tilted down a bottle’s throat.

Spin the wheel.

Patiently await.

Hand me a magic gun for the vampire in my chest,

sipping on the fluid that pumps thoughts through gates

where a Dracula sits as a guard to synapses,

wine glass in his hand while striking up a rebellion along the train tracks,

any passing note of optimism careening into a widened pit

as inquisitive eyes narrow their faces,

direct out finer lies to conquer races,

serving pats on the back for another husk down the rabbit hole,

tripping along a hamster wheel with a reaper at the rear,

looking for a habit to instill;

a hope to steal.

Uncertain shuffling.

A mind muffling.

A dose increasing.

But all I want is to be free

and meet who I’m told to be.

Slide over a glass of nerves.

I want to have what my mind deserves.

All I want is to understand how I’ve come out of bed,

each year on a wrong side,

no matter front, back, left, right,

never finding a prescribed light,

cramming moods into a jar cluttered with impulses

and the tools of negative compulsions.

Slap a strip of tape over a tsunami’s door,

trying to will oceans into a time out corner.

They’re lapping up to my toes,

granting knowledge of impending throes,

loaded and cocked back in a plague doctor’s syringe,

irises blank as a leech and teeth of a tiger,

gauging a prey from the stumble of their gait.

Spin the wheel for a chance to feel.

Spin the wheel and make another deal.

Don’t forget to keep up on the bills.

I would never be me and I’m giving my best shot at it,

aim stuck at the ground,

firing blanks into soil to shovel off the dirt

and prepare for what medication has started.

I could never be me and I’m giving it my best.

Don’t worry; I’m over it.

It won’t last forever.

Say prepared goodbyes; I’m through with it.

It can’t last forever.

( ❤ Mitch)


  1. onadanta says:

    I enjoy your rhyme off, rhyme on, because I am also constructed the same way. Bipolar? Maybe. North and South Poles rule the whole planet. Up and down. In and out. Coming and going. Can’t escape. Meanwhile, have you ever thought of just avoiding alcohol all together? Yeah? Where will the vampire get his wine but from you? Or me. Well, amusing but probably senseless. No sense in avoiding a Muse. Not very inspiring. Especially for people with inquisitive eyes. With narrow faces. Which reminds me. Did you mean to say “direct OUR finer lies”?
    Also, the right side (versus the left side or the wrong side) is still just a figment of your imagination, the other side of a nonexistent coin in a parallel universe traveling faster than the speed of sound in a vacuum, lost on the far side and sometimes invisible. Still, I have to agree with you in the end. You are so right. It won’t last forever. Can’t last forever. But, it sure does take its time. Oh, well. Do what you can. Write often and raise your glass. Let’s drink to the tsunami.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. merzkehd says:

      It IS meant to be “direct out,” as the lies are being perfected/made fine. But I appreciate you taking the time to analyze this and find a personal meaning in it, I greatly appreciate it! ❤


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