Calling All Poem by Malcolm McGill

when i arose
like a plot twist in prose
i found my head in a box
with jagged rocks and those
cuts ran like rivers.

yet i didn't care to find the key
i hadn't known if there was a key
to unlock the door at the end
of the hallway
and there was no way out.

hope,
like a noose, was neither thick
enough nor long enough
to decorate my neck
in the void of space.

eyes bled as i looked upon the
sun
who's face looked upon me,
i failed him, and he wasn't about
to bail me out again.

and again
i rest my case-head on the chopping block, the breath
i taste, is not my own but those
chopped before.

in a world where pennies are scraped from our fabricated pockets to bury the dead, and they are young.