Self-Induced Coma Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Fate served cold, in buckets of rivers.

Change and conspire with the blank Sun and morosely tender moon.

Don’t speak much, I’m going soon

Transit into the wilderness of the opaque, stark hope

The stars are glinting terribly swollen

And the streets, downtrodden and crippled

Sitting debonairly, atop and juxtaposed beside a

Mausoleum of gargoyles, thieves and lecherous demons

I instill the sepulchral night’s venom

So I could die now,

And rise with every piece of heaven

Worth knowing, I will get there,

While all of you grow rueful and senile

I am on my way, no forked roads

No vehement collapse, no restrictions

Full-speed, full-bliss, half-conscientiously awake

I partake in this play of who lies and who breaks

In oblivion, I slumber.