Dismal

My heart beats
electric.
Till you pull the
plug.

Shut me down.
Let me die.
So I can start a new one.

Beep, beep, beep.
I'm going home.

I don't care that your eyes change colors in sunlight, moonlight,

matching each clothing that you wear,

glistening upon the rusted trash,

you take out every night after work.


I don't care that your eyes find me lifeless,

rummaging through the aisles that you

just walked through fixing,

only to mess it up again.


I don't care that I disregard the fact,

that I wait to hear the sound of the carts,

going outside, filled with empty boxes,

that you just worked on.


I don't care that your eyes,

never leave my mind, my heart,

or my sight.


I don't care that you don't care about me,

or the fact that I am alive.


What's amazing is that, you carry such beautiful gems,

wink them at my sight, smiling generously, at the world beneath

that register.


What's amazing is that, you don't deserve such eyes.

If two small ponds of glitter can break a girl's heart,

what else can I say.


I'm just rambling in the night.

Fuck your beautiful eyes, cause you're a dirty guy.

A self-absorbed no good piece of shit.

I spit on the mirrors you look at.

If I could only be a fly, just to ram into your two precious made-for-windex, camera loving, lust craving eyes.

i'd wipe the table with your face,

but i'd feel sorry for the table.

i'd throw you out into the dumpster,

but i'd feel sorry for the homeless man trying to find food.

i'd drown you in boiling water,

but i'd feel sorry for the drain.

i'd take a knife, and cut you deep,

but i'd feel sorry for the man who spent hours in making that knife.

i'd tie you down in a slaughter house,

but i'd feel sorry for the animals who you compare nothing to.

i'd burn your whole body,

but i'd feel sorry for the fire.

i'd bury you into the depths of the ground,

but i'd feel sorry for the creatures who live there.


my last idea would be

to eat you

while you're still alive.

why?

i never feel sorry for my self.

I'm the elephant that fell into
a tar-pit.
Incinerating until,
there's nothing left to burn.

Sands slipping through the
hour glass.
Your time is running out,
Old Buddy.

I hate seeing you go.
So soon.
But good people
can't stay down here, forever.

Oh I was in love with her,
She thought I had the warmest smile
It had all begun in a moments spur
It felt like the first time I had a cigarette
Wanted more of it, tried to take in as much as I can at times
But to her it was like getting high
She was addicted, wanted the feeling forever
Believe me, we always felt and thought the same,
So similar were we, our differences were so lame.
I knew just when she wanted me to kiss,
She knew me too, her, I just cant miss
Nothing was ever so perfect, we realized,
We ditched smoke, we ditched dopes
She even knew how many times I’d pee in a day,
She knew how much I craved watching her naked,
Over and over again,
I knew how she loved my stubble on her inner thighs,
I bit her, nibbled her and squeezed her and never let go,
She clung on to me, stole me and got glued to my man muscle.
Later we married and a little later she carried
Succumbed was our urges,
In civilization and luxury she splurged,
Towards flamboyance and money she surged
She opened up more to cosmetics,
Told me it made her feel fuckin-tastic
As hair fell, my forehead became more open than my heart,
I fucked more crosswords, telivisions, strip clubs and my son’s xbox,
I told her it felt fuckin-fantabulous
One day I found my son was as tall as me
Cigars and cougars interested him,
Tattooed was half of his body,
It was beautiful art, girls found it inviting,  and cancer too
Which I found out in a note he left on his bed.
My mind was full of Lisa from the club,
The lapdance, the two hints I couldn’t solve in that day’s crossword
I frantically searched in my mind for love, frantically searched for my heart.
I had fucking lost it already, my son was twenty four
Screw me, I can only completely recall my son’s four year old face
I smiled then for I discovered I had also lost my wallet full of money
At the least my son had something to remember me by,
I tried to remember me, but it was a strange guy in the mirror
I had a beard, I had a pot belly,
But it was a tomorrow I never knew would come
So I shaved, I combed, I dressed up neat,
I rejoiced at the return of the old heat
I drove to my wife’s office, she was late these days
But today I will bring her home early,
Tell her I want to reclaim everthing
She would come back and I will bite her,
Remind her of how she used to cling
On to my man muscle
In her office I found her, but in the restroom
Like old times, she looked drugged
But she was on her boss’s lap her clothes torn
She screamed and swore as she saw me, then cried
But I still felt love for her, I smiled
Hatred for myself, I walked back home
I left my son’s note on the dinner table
Walked to the aquarium
The fishes in it had changed,
But lucky them they never had to become civilized
I felt happy, fet like I have seen it all
Have gone through almost every fall
I took my gun kept it right under my chin
Where my son long ago had drawn a fake beard
And we laughed about it for so long
I smiled, I pulled the trigger…
                                            
                                                      *
    
I shot my husband, my old friend, now a fucking fiend
As he fell down, the aquarium bursting onto his face
Giving me no clue if he actually cried
Or if he smiled in that fiendish scorn just like in office
Then I saw the gun in his hands,
He seemed to have held it under his chin
Maybe wanted to kill himself
I reminisced, how we always thought of doing exactly the same

the misery is sweeping her eye bags into shades of purple.
falling into temptation, withering quietly, wanting to sacrifice a demand, nothing.
who can remember those dimples, if you never show a smile?

ashes hide, winning over the air that you once inhaled.
grabbed that gun, headed out the door, and told your family, you wanted no more.
stuttering, failing to speak such language. doesn't matter, no words form experience, in your manner.

yellow teeth, stains of hard liquor, and fists made out of empty promises.
bruises of the devil, you carry pride in your work.
when you get paid for the death bed you gave so generously, at least remember her dimples.

I fell into my past only to be strangled into the future.

You brought me into your coma.

I am not sure, which one of us made it.

You're buried, flesh rotting away.

I'm "alive", my soul;abject misery.

Don't think of yourself as a lucky "man", you pathetic pile of waste.

Don't think I can't kill you with my hands.

I may not kill you by strangulation, but with these hands, I'll massacre you.

I will write novels, and with those words printed on each line, each page, I will choke you,

hold you down. Make you believe in a God, so you can pray to get out.

There's no hope for you, no chance, nothing.

And as those novels get published, I will burn them by hand, bury them by hand, tear them by hand.

Don't think of your self as a lucky "man".

I'll save one last book, to smash your head, over and over and over and over again, of course, by hand.