Using Super Mario Bros as an extended metaphor.
I’m caught up in the windy abstract
And lost in the intangible nature
Of a self made Bermuda Triangle
With nothing but a half a bottle of wine
And a few cigarettes to help me
Out of this rain forest maze,
And I get the psychedelic feeling
That I’m trapped in a Mario game.
An eight bit hurricane.
Is that Bowser in the next room?
Spiky back and beady turtle eyes.
Only there’s no princess to save,
Just what’s left of my sanity.
I jump and begin to bleed
As the bricks are too solid to head butt.
I can’t find any stars because they’re nothing but a childhood dream.
And the mushrooms don’t make me grow taller,
They only grow the presence of fatal death.
This is a mature rated Mario Game.
Just dark dungeons,
Flying killer goombas
And blood sucking koopa troopas
That eat me alive
Even after I’ve escaped the dungeon
And thrown into an underwater horror,
And I’m always afraid,
The ice world.
The mansions in the sky.
The mine shafts.
The emptiness of space.
Clouds with no gravity.
Levels with no escape.
Finally it’s the final battle in hell
With the fire piercing my pixilated body
As Bowser paws me down,
Erasing my face,
And I burn slowly,
Watching the princess,
Dressed in leather
Gets whipped and swallowed whole.
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