gurney racing

you’re a suitcase pilot
beer goggles
bulging
out your bloodshot eyes

as you sits

strapped down

on a racing
bronze gurney

speeding down a corridor
swish swish
smashing
crashing
through glass panes
of
blinding splinted light
separated
only by
the sticky gooey emptiness
of chaos
which
smells of blue cheese

between
ragged exhausted breaths
rum shots
and
strong coffee
you gets over
the
Finish tape
that
always
trips
another gurney race
to start
as it rains
toe tag filled
fortune cookies

exhausted

the continuous

insomniac race’s 

feel rigged

lost already

even
as
onwards
one races
while
crowds of portraits
cheer you on
with their silent stares
the
wreaths of flowers
framing
their let down
party balloon
faces
blooming
with
helium filled maggots

inside
you’re so constipated
with lies
old faded costumes

myths

all 
tied up in knot
twisted
intestines
that
you just fill with
shitty
memorabilia
from
earlier races
triumphs
that one can’t
dump

victories
you only remember
in eye watering
smelly
sticky
poisonous
gas
bubbles
escaping
your
gimp mask zipper

the pasts
balled up
winning grundies
old manky
sweat stains
have taken on
the rank smell
of
formaldehyde
while tumors
fill the
space
you’d left
for your next
races
trophies

the gurney
clatter’s
and
rattles
bouncing
down stairs
one
never evolved
to climb

yet
one last
resilient thought
exist

one
was only
ever forged
upon the gurney
to ride
down
life’s collapsing
falling
sky scrapers
puerile
propaganda tagged
spored
corridors

as a sacrifice

hell
another finish line
approaches
one can hear
the almighty roar
of
the crowd
one
can feel their heated
breath
leap out

flames from a furnace

cracking
ones
leather casing
heroically
vainly
onwards
towards
the
gates
off
the
screaming
groaning
suffering
bowels
of
Tartarus

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