Tread In Shadow.

Americana Injustica

Where have you been hiding
for these days of mine passed by?
which demons were you fighting
when I asked you for the time?
what goes on inside your head
while your hand unzips my fly?
which memories come back to you
when your breath becomes a sigh?
do you still think that True Heaven
is a place in between my thighs?
have you forgotten how you left me
and never bothered to tell me why?
does your betrayal and embitterment
shine right through the blue in my eyes?
are you aware of the pain in the air
multiplied by moments that drip-dry?
do you know that I’m empty without you?
the skeletal remains of a burial site;
and, though I am forsaken in darkness
I tread in shadow and by moonlight.

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Felled.

Americana Injustica

If I were more like a tree
I could spread my roots deeply
I could sway every day in the forgiving breeze
I could grow old and die in solitary
If I were more like everybody
Life would not hurt quite as badly
Because I don’t find the same kind of misery
In any of the other creatures that I see
If I were more like I was meant to be
I’d do a better job at fixing everything
Things wouldn’t be toppled all around me
I could climb from the hole in which I’ve been buried
If I had been any easier to lead
Around by a tether and bound hands and feet
Id understand better the rest of the sheep
And be happy to forget my own individuality
If I were more of the woman I set out to be
Life might feel more like a warm homecoming

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Bleeds Black.

Americana Injustica

The streets are silvery black from the rain
mirroring the darkened space in my brain
yellow streetlights cast a sad, sickly haze
down on reflective, fire-fly puddles ablaze

The drizzly days have been rescuing me
washing away dead layers, torrentially
but then, are the drops of a different breed
fallen from eyes onto wounds that still bleed

No comfort in the faces that I look upon most
no magic left to ponder, no victories to boast
things I once perceived other than “formerly”
along the lines of the former endless possibility

While everything eddies down the storm drain
into the gutter too deep to be pulled out again
drowned out by the mournfully grey pitter-patter
metallic ting of the line’s O-ring’s half-mass tatter

My heart bleeds the darkest of black from the vein
a shower of droplets to bathe me in exquisite pain
the wind seems to whisper at me…

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What Else?

Americana Injustica

I think you nailed it without meaning to,

how you said you lived somewhere arctic,

and that I would absolutely hate it there…

…what else?…

I think you spilled the truth over the brim,

how you put the blame on my poetry,

for inspiring your meaningless expressions…

…what else?…

I think you must have known from the beginning,

how you singled me out with your destruction,

because I seem so strong and hard to break…

…what else?…

I think it was a drill that you run regularly,

how the floodgates opened and flooded the course,

with a new mental illness and old childhood issues…

…what else?…

I think you must feel happy with yourself,

for being a weak wolf in a hokey sheep costume,

at least, I hope you are.

 

 

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Jeg ber dere.

Americana Injustica

Jeg ber dere …
If I had you alone for a while
I guarantee
I could make you smile –
A broad, wide grin
that’d stretch for miles…
You’d be my daddy,
I’d be your love child;
Under the covers
a universe so wild,
believing and seeing –
the other side
of the coin –
tender loin,
my need –
overrides;
beg and moan
pump and groan
til the tears come
to my eyes;
A stroke and you’re in,
Now the pleasure
begins,
You take away from me –
only to
give back in full,
again.
jeg ber dere…
Suction from
puckered lips
pressure from you
finertips,
deep inside,
now – HOLD
recognize…
take it back again,
I beg of you
“Sugar, please?…”
You decide then
to let me
finally win;
you get me
to heights I’ve never been;
Please? Come back in…
I’ve left the
knob unlocked,
my door’s…

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Try Me.

Americana Injustica

Try me, spicy,
cursive Roman lettering…
A secret alphabet,
Dicey;
enticing the skin
of my fingertips;
dividing the places
between my hips;
underneath, and
in between,
how did you know?
How can you be?
The Keeper of
the lock and key…
when I
can’t even find the thing?
Try me, scarface,
nemojte me obožavaju?…
Made of bones –
Which dialect
Do you know?
si me obožavaju?
can’t you understand?
Made of flesh –
And strung
around your neck,
you want it wet…
I’m in your net.
Please?
Release…
Try me, Handsome,
I’m yours for sure
Your unsecret whore,
Of the North Shore.
Made of stones,
tell me…
who is right and wrong?
It does not matter,
It never will,
Let me in –
Let me kill;
Your darkest chatter,
Be it gone,
so that my ears
will hear…
your every love song.
Push me and pull me
Carry on…
I…

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The Wrapping Up of Such Sadness.

It’s been 16 long and theiving months of it all; and now that it’s over and my mama has passed away, it feels like a dream: halfway surreal and traumatic, and halfway a street that’s enveloped by fog too thick to navigate.

It’s over.

It’s over.

All I can say is that it’s over.

..and the torment is wrapped up. My mama has lost the fight.