Returning Chester

A weekend gone,
From zero to red.
Threefold at the edges,
Wedging our eyes open
To open and open.
We're dead not yet,
We're holding and hanging
On.

Leaking gray matter from the pressure,
You pursue fresher air
In hopes to get the hell out of there,
To let the wind
Bear the weights in your hair.

Bars hold me back,
As the quarter notes attack.
And you forget,
And I regret,
Formalities and familiarities.

So I gather exclusion
In a red metal case
Without financial intentions
But starving attention.
...So it is given,
And it is gotten.

The stability found
When all else fails.
The perfection embodied,
A storm that I sail.
The dictator laid down,
Halting reign that I hail.
The unseen pleasant things
That forgetfulness entails.