Unplugged

discordant, rhythmic
echoing in the heart
un-melodic melody, sharpened
forged, hammered, ground out.

cold, sharp, clean
winter wire reverberates
from a distant hammer.
the anticipation, so icy
when reality arrives, it slams through;
it leaves no survivors, takes
no prisoners.

The message, so dirty, so wrong
delivered in harsh monotone,
a bare lightbulb swings,
bare cement, impassive
a burgundy, overstuffed couch,
floral pillow in the corner,
urged on, enticed, teased
morality fading to white,
bleached, bone-dry, whittled away
until gone...

...warm, fuzzy, slow
no less dirty, depraved
a velvet glove hides a twisted hand
a craven genius, stubbled
sweaty, sunken-eyed, tortured
by demons, inside.
Could I know him...could I BE him?
Could anyone?