A Poem: "Richard Bachman Tina Turner Overdrive"

 

Richard Bachman Tina Turner Overdrive

by Chris La Vigna (@Chris_LaVigna)



"May a thousand apocalyptic sirens
Sing me to sleep
I can’t be held responsible
For what happens otherwise
Condemned to roam the chasm
Between calling and craving
Evoking a certain style of desperation
For maximum engagement
These electric eldritch abominations
Won’t let me die
I’m the closest you’ll ever get to a hero
Yet I’ve stolen so much
Love simulations
Rage amplifications
Resonance, dissonance, dissidence, decay
I can give it all away
For the proper price
Video violence
Stretching the bandwidth
Your identity rests
On how much you can take
I’m the closest you’ll get to a hero
But I can’t save you
Too busy staring
Into a time loop mirror
Birth, growth, rot
Birth, growth, rot
Ad infinitum
Ad nauseam

Still figuring out the difference All I know is:
Legacy Is A Lie

Pull out your teeth
Examine the cavities
Smile with bleeding gums
Your identity rests
On how much you can fake
Let me be the bastard you love
Trading nightmares
To keep gin stocked in my freezer
I have a million cheap monster masks
For all possible permutations of personality
Burnt reels
Bent notes
I live in the spaces
No one cares to fill
I’m the closest you’ll ever get to a hero
Yet you set me ablaze

Shouting

We don’t need another hero
We need a coven
A consortium
A consensus on proper conduct
While appropriating witchcraft
You are the children of the witches they couldn’t burn
I am the spawn of the demon they praised
Wiping soot from their faces
I’m the closest you’ll ever get to a hero
But my backstory keeps rebooting
Spastically dancing
In an interrogation room
I’m nobody
I’ll keep
Crashing cars
Changing names
To make my myth
Your truth
Long live
The mutant wunderkind
Who kept on branding
Until his cult sold itself"

© Chris La Vigna 2021

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