the blind, deaf and mute

what is it? try to feel around a curve ball - shooting past into a warped mind cluttered with many unnecessary folders, littered with tons of memory confused with the reshaped story sweet like the first ice cream tasted, bitter like the first betrayal given. the straight line is missing many pieces, with a landscape ill defined, unchartered, the broad road appears like one's favorite wine, a kool-aid: how warm, how refreshing, with the warmth spreading from fingers to a heart now bewitched by a foul mouth monster sneering, licking, tasting a nerve wrecked shriveled ball tightening fist to keep that last precious gem covered in dirt. is it gem? the mouth spitters saliva, erasing all the hard earned rice harvest. a farmer is made poor again then burns away the scarecrow who chased away no angry crows with eyes grayed out from too much wax. drip. another turn of events - how do you sidestep an avalanche when the ground vibrates, when the boulders drizzle like water drops, the back is turned away from that mountain sliding - neatly burrows into valleys of the heart still hearing a nursery rhyme going thud, pud, pak: splat. broken, shattered, fragmented, the rhyme becomes out of harmony, sinks away all the drizzle like rain, cracking unto surface brittle, the ear drums continue to hear the rushing waters filling the cavities, all those intonation, emphasis on the high pitched metal scraping metal with mary's bloody lamb crying out for help but mary has gotten hungry. with miss muffet gone cruel, eagerly tearing of each limb of that nasty spider still opening wide it's jaws in silent plea. i just wanted some company. then the back gets thrown forwards with many layers of cushions suddenly squashed, a faint sound, almost like a fart! then it was pure flatness, that dull monochrome voice sent to all channels, all frequencies, nothing to tune out noise from signal, with probabilities touching philosophy, then noise: signal; noise: never happens, signal: blotched an error in the logic, the ears strain to hear, to hearken to a flood of tuned out jingles faded like the cushion now hard as hard. fevers, molten dreams melting into flesh. the warm comfort of a favorite meal slowly cooked, each bite savoring the heat, the ice forming inside when burns become numb. a thorn in the flesh no longer bothers, prod, prod - no reaction when the eyes continue to glaze away at nothing in particular. the response is never coming, though the arms shudder when a pile of rocks hit right too close to home: gardens, curve ball: monster as a monster thrashes all those roses, the ball bounces up and down, hitting roof and floor, cracking that foundation, black roses created; time to live: 55s; soon it became quite clear that it was all spoofed. poof away at vision dim, ears hearing the sound of yesterday, the hands grasp at invisible strings but the master is still loosening control. feels like freedom till a fall comes about, a deep growl within the pits reverberates to the linings of the heart whose eyes see, hear and speak. they test curve balls out of whack, out of touch with reality of the memories jumbled, of the heavy sky hurtled down when a mountain collapses, then the targets become clear. and it was just an echo of my face, my mirror reflection whispering, tugging on strings to finally seal this prison. seen as the first ice cream tasted, the nursery covered in dust, grasp at air believing it to be more than wind and all the while chasing all the puffed out air let out when a cushion's saving grace never saw the real north. there is was, still refilling up - this empty hole in my heart.