Nocturnal Decline.

How the lids of each eye,

had been pressed and dried,

to each cheek overnight,

as I slumbered and cried;

how the corners of the smile,

that no one’s seen for a while,

turned down by the light,

with classic taciturn style;

how the sweeping of time,

collected dust into a pile,

to sift through and find,

grains of truth that were mine;

how the passage defines,

the subtle crossing of lines,

the journal of my nocturnal decline,

slumber is no friend of mine.

 

 

Heavy.

Now I lay me down to sleep again,

in the grips of a dread that I slumber within,

the same unforgiving and cramped position,

wound up mentally and the ratcheting begins,

the memories and tragedies flood fatally in,

my body won’t sink and my mind only swims,

things I regret never saying to him,

the betrayal and shattered belief systems,

the battered and tattered fragments of oblivion,

the daughter I lost to the very darkest of demons…

now here I lay me down to sleep again,

in the coldest of places that I’ve ever been,

no loving faces haunt the dreams I’m given,

through the hours I can’t keep the terror from slipping in.

 

Leftover.

The pieces leftover do not belong,

in the voided space between these arms,

not a word of blame to wrongly hang upon,

any of the people already come and gone;

this endless game must produce a loser,

the friendless domain of the End User,

a headless dame and her heartless suitor,

the senseless pain left by my abuser;

a treachery of what is most volatile,

a jealousy creeping into things hostile,

a redundancy like a fucking turnstile,

a pleasantry feigned in the meanwhile;

that notion of safety,

that may as well be,

some distantly foreign entity,

no matter the decades between,

the days his evil ways,

maintained control over me,

no matter how much easier,

is becomes to fall asleep,

his oppression,

left it impression,

embedded down deep.