Pinball World

I am a pinball
puttering through life
like an angry monster
with no feeling
of taste, touch, and fear.
I climb castle walls,
leap over malicious spikes
gleaming in the wind,
stubborn and stray.
A cold marble eyeball
stares back at me
brown and streaked
with grey lead,
stuck inside
its center core.

Frozen in time,
the stiff howls that
center themselves,
crawling along molten tiles
of the soul.
Creeping up,
the pale fingers flickers.
Squiggles of black paint
line the horizon,
as my shiny raw head
numb from all fault,
slips into a comma,
into a world
where bright lights
flicker
into the ashes
of the quaint, tubular
dustpan, vicariously
withering away.

Heed to the call
to the mountain of doubt,
as it falls into
the hole left by the frigid
dormouse.
Entering now, poems stuck
to the roof of vicious deeds,
and letters unwritten.

Empty pinholes
litter the streets,
and my steel-framed
eggshell
of a heart-
it breaks,
oh, it breaks!

Countering melodies,
so thick,
and so stout.
The peeling fish's eye
holds in
all the rings of splinters
that form
within the plastic grid
that holds
my body in.

Robust, oily feathers
stream my thoughts.
As bell towers shriek the call,
the border begins to rot.