Still Eating Thorns.

All this time

in between

then and now

been simmering

been building up

rather patiently

brooding silently

been grinding teeth

been stomping feet

been digging holes

with an upward swing

eating poisonous things,

picking thorns from trees,

like a blended sugarcane,

DMT, bonfires and peyote,

cigars and syringes,

sparkling fringes,

champagne, cocaine,

and pornography,

somewhere out there,

fathomed too deep,

Where I hardly sleep,

And maybe it’s killing me,

how my eyes stay closed,

mouth neatly sewn,

over words of my own,

this place is forsaken,

this space can’t be taken,

the loose change shaken,

from the secret pockets,

sewn neatly in my cheeks.

Been.

Been feeling rather

like I’ve been,

tossed out with the trash again,

been hearing laughter

inside my brain,

for getting played like a slot machine,

been taking refuge

in a jackal’s den,

naked, with a so-called gentleman,

been driven into

the wall again,

petal to the metal into the median,

been feeling nothing

but pure obscurity,

a vague and insecure uncertainty,

been here wondering

ponderously,

imprisoned by my own duplicity,

been tapping constantly

on the keys ‘til my fingers bleed,

to dispel the hurt I’ll feel inevitably,

been like, yeah – well, maybe,

I’ve been shafted again,

 sour, that out-dated milk carton,

been eating candy,

vainly, to try and sweeten,

the taste of my faith going quickly rotten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mercifold.

I fold, you win…

I guess each element of the person I am,

stands here stupidly in firm opposition,

to the overbearing, sobering obsession,

the patience of the pen worn paper-thin,

I fold, you win…

took note of the tone to certain questions,

shined the light in the face with interrogations,

combed over the memoir with keen attention,

full to the brim with such jealous affliction,

I fold, you win…

spoke freely all things without hesitation,

forfeit the highs for the lows once again.

I fold.

Been.

Been feeling rather

like I’ve been,

tossed out with the trash again,

been hearing laughter

inside my brain,

for getting played like a slot machine,

been taking refuge

in a jackal’s den,

naked, with a so-called gentleman,

been driven into

the wall again,

petal to the metal into the median,

been feeling nothing

but pure obscurity,

a vague and insecure uncertainty,

been here wondering

ponderously,

imprisoned by my own duplicity,

been tapping constantly

on the keys ‘til my fingers bleed,

to dispel the hurt I’ll feel inevitably,

been like, yeah – well, maybe,

I’ve been shafted again,

 sour, that out-dated milk carton,

been eating candy,

vainly, to try and sweeten,

the taste of my faith going quickly rotten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now, Lie In It.

Broken sockets in both of his eyes
While you undoubtedly stood right by
Beaten to bits with his own Maglite
How do you live with such oversight?
The last standing of your Champions
The only one left to allow you back in
And this is your reward to him
While his eyes may never see again.
And the last things they saw were certainly
Your friends taking off with his phone and money
As you had the nerve to play your victimology
He laid alone, bleeding out in the street
I can honestly and openly say
That I didn’t raise you to turn out this way
Your drama comes through like a tidal wave
And hurts the ones whose blood is the same
I will stand up with my heels both dug in
Stand the ground that surrounds my closest kin
There’s no way in Hell or in Heaven
That you’ll get a chance to hurt him again
Say what you will to shift the blame
I can see only your complete lack of shame
and it spits the fuel at my furious flame
an X shines through the mark of your name
But, I now also see the truth behind so many things
I can no longer give any excuse, force-fed your identity
a hideous and inexcusable, vicious non-human being
the monster survives and thrives in my own offspring

Thinking and Speaking.

In a small circle broken only by,
the tiny space by which hopefully, I,
will make an escape at the end of my –
musings made public in the blink of an eye;
I lift my sword and point now,
to you: hazel eyes, six-foot-two,
you know exactly what it will be,
that I naturally recall about you…
the way that your shimmering eyes –
were a mask covering so many lies –
and how those lies eventually outweighed any truth;

Now, on to the one right next to the first:
top lip’s so tight his mouth might burst,
your body language says that your brain works fine,
the stance of your stature doesn’t look so self-assured,
you have kept your ignorance segregated, indeed –
by everyone – especially women – quite successfully –
that crap works great in the military, so why not go, soldier?

And on to the next obliviously smiling wise guy,
born and bred from the blood of some godly divine,
I’ve known of dead animals with better morals than you,
sporting tattoos that belong only in the skin of dead swine,
your very breath reeks of poisonous hatred –
a desire to destroy what any other finds as sacred –
wretched: your kiss is of Sulfur and your touch is of brine.

Damn Us.

damn us