Vacuum.

All at once,

Like a sucker punch,

Surprise, it’s like,

It says so in my eyes,

“Please tell me lies”,

All the same,

Never owning the blame,

It’s true, it’s like,

I saw it way before you,

Subtract one from two,

All in time,

On a clock that’s behind,

And now, it’s like,

Father Time won’t allow,

Still stuck on stupid somehow.

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pins and Needles.

My fingertips are pins and needles,
That tuck the hospital corners of your world,
and smooth the blankets of your mind,
It’s chaos, come to adjust the pillows ’round your heart,
Anxiety, come to massage your broken hands,
See my sparkling, salt encrusted crown of worry,
Ever thickening with hardness,
Never weakening with softness,
My fingertips are ten tiny doorways,
That seek you out, thus desperately
It’s a welcome party sporting shotguns,
It’s death, come to holler in the deafened ears,
Life, come to go away again,
See my hate-infused senses trying so hard to love,
Ever faltering with drunkenness,
Ever drinking in this emptiness.

Blown-Out Knees.

It’s been:
the ugliest,
of epiphanies;
it’s been:
hard as Hell,
to swallow,
such realities;
it’s been:
likened to both,
blown-out knees;
it’s been:
anything but,
thoughts of,
a recovery;
I am:
overwhelmed,
by the notions,
I’ve denied,
admittedly;
I am:
undertaken,
by the actions,
others aim,
at me;
I am:
what I am,
just a woman,
no hidden,
secrecy;
I am:
out of the race,
came in last place;
I am done:
now,
out they come,
to bury,
such burden as me.

Most Hated of Them All.

I hate her.
I hate the way her face displays,
all the things she hides from me;
I hate every breath that she takes.
I curse her smiles;
I make it rain all over her parades,
I saturate her blankets,
and every clothesline that she hangs.
I feel sick;
every time her victory banner is waved,
those with hearts as dark as hers,
do not deserve such good days.
I cast catching nets;
to halt the successes she’s made,
all the good she’s accomplished;
from within a questionable Human state.
I hunt her;
track marks in the mud from her chains,
her pace has picked up now,
but her attempts to escape are in vain.
I watch her;
watch each line appear in her face,
along the tip-toes of the crow’s feet,
so I step away from the mirror again.

Resting Place.

We slept without breaths –
underneath six feet of topsoil,
bathed in the heavy suffocation,
of loosely strung illumination –
another silent burial site’s
flimsy paper lantern lights,
among the beloved already beneath,
primordial soup of bones and teeth –
a headstone lain down too heavily,
granite secrets kept steadily,
a lifetimes of anchors: dropped deep –
chained to my chains for all eternity,
a fate bound to a rabid Mammoth,
chained to both well-traveled,
and yellow, daisy-kicking feet,
we dreamed without darkness –
under the same stars,
that together, we once betrayed,
in a match’s quickly stricken,
enticing phosphoric display,
we struck fire to the paths –
from which we just had strayed,
never looked back, admittedly,
we ran until it all faded away,
into one, never-ending and exhausting –
ill-fated, suffocated final resting place.

Identify.

I told you
didn’t I?
you know
I had to try…
to hold onto
my own
hell-bent
detriment…
so indeed
and, earnestly
I let the
arrows fly…
loosed carelessly
to describe
my over-tired
and broken mind
there it was…
no doubt
all laid out
to scale
and personalized
to the very
best ability
of me –
personified…
yet, it’s trifling,
a novel compound
like your loyalty
unwieldy…
weighing down
wrought-iron-bound
an anchor  
drowning me…
I tried
early on,
to say why
spelled out
in bold lettering…
to emphasize
with clarity
such shortcomings
like to mine…