Carousel

Days circle slowly like vultures.
Waiting for the 90 minutes to be played out,
The absurdity of it all. Circles, circles.
A player stuck on repeat, another soup can.

The unconscious buries me the more I bury it,
But we carry on, adversaries in this monotony.
Circulating like a grimy, stained porno mag.
Forgetful of the past, dismissive of the future.

Living vicariously through illuminating pixels,
Finding relief through whizzes and purrs.
Trapped by comfort, excused by illness.
A self-pity stricken cripple; paralysed.

And it plays again, that old refrain
It draws me in. I eat it up, it spits me out.
Like a rotten tomatoe, throw me at the people,
Trickle like blood down the sides of their mouth.

The carousel spins, the horses go up and down,
I grab a hold of one, ride it round and round.

Carousel

Mark Simpson

Scoresby, Australia

desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

10% off

for joining the Redbubble mailing list

Receive exclusive deals and awesome artist news and content right to your inbox. Free for your convenience.