Channeling: Marked Fragile

My third eye is
a malfunctioning implant,
like a silicone breast,

that bursts every time
I blink.

This
vision, it’s poison.

I’ve tried to plug the socket,
or at least strap on
a black pirate’s patch

like a belt
to keep truth fastened
around my skull.

The world fits neatly
into a box we plug
in to remove its tints
from the observation
window.

Now I have blinds over
the television to remind me

I’ve been inside too long,
staring out over this

terrible view.