by Neesa Suncheuri
I command you.
Look into the sky, gaze past the millions of miles
At the sun, its bright round face
Impossible to visit.
You fall down from the heavens, the
Crisp, knifing sky has no form,
Its horizon wobbles,
Gravity pulls you into its central source,
Beyond Earth’s level ground,
Into the globe’s central core, a
Metallic pit of a seed, the
Root of all evil.
Death upon hitting the
Hard soil is merely a
Gentle rap at Hell’s door.
Bodies falls limp, spirits sucked in.
Crumpled piles of bone and flesh,
Akin to a field of
Scarecrow dummies kicked over,
Ravens picking at their revenge,
Straw bulges out of rips of fabric,
Fodder for horned cattle.
Dead bodies are the bricks and mortar|
Of hell’s architecture, Satan’s red castle made from
The tongues of pleasing preachers,
Songs from the pipe organ churned from
Waifish whores, their wails of witchy bed-making,
Hollow conch shells are cavernous in perfect places,
Where the echo of pleasure resounds endlessly.
Earth is but a grey stone,
Covered by a deceptive, organic veil.
Trees, that pagan mask,
Oceans, merely puddles of dirty water,
Minds like children,
Nakedness mocked as
Earth’s pagan mask replaced with
Cracks in pavement as the planet
Memories of past histories fade,
Now replaced with old-aged
Dementia, people frantically flailing,
Souls perish without new ones
Time freezes at extinction,
Our planet dirty compared to the
Bare, ashen craters on moons.
The earth is a grey stone,
Surrounded by green.
Neesa Suncheuri works as a mental health peer specialist at a housing agency in Queens, New York. She is the founder of a Facebook discussion group for peer specialists and other recovery enthusiasts, entitled “What is Wellness? A Mental Health Discussion Group.” Much of her creative inspiration is rooted in her now-tamed schizophrenia. She is a singer/songwriter, and performs in various venues in the city. She writes poetry, maintains a blog and is currently working on a memoir. Follow her on Twitter at @aquariumspeaks.