I fled to sink into
satin sheets, threadbare and torn
wanting not, needing naught
as pennies were thrown at my head
I turned away
my other cheek forlorn
falling gracelessly
into cesspools of decadence
mired up to my thighs
caring not
but for sleepless eternities
and equal immortal tasks
fixated by the censure in your eyes
I almost ceased to be
it was fine days
as you watched behind
those rose colored glasses
seething with self -righteousness
indulging yourself in resignation
going about daily tasks and easy slumber
pristine on your self-exalted pedestal
calling out halleujah's
as I waited far below
along with your discarded bones
a road littered with abandonment and neglect
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 9:56 AM UTC
I can’t think of a thing not to say
the harsh sounds
rip out my throat. ( hoarse gallop)
hazel irises with rusty Saturn rings
surround the pupils
to the unobservant
an eye. ( chameleon guise)
Hearing is silence
in listening
watching the body move. ( sub~language)
Eating words
that fly like missiles
into heart meat. (die, die, my darling)
Softly step
in and among
the lives of all of us. ( fingers and thumbs)
Do not speak afterwards
of the technicalities
in sky high memories. (the horror)
The water flows
crisp, clean, clear
from the tap. ( plumb the depths)
Candles are lit
on restaurant tables
for romantic ambiance. ( emergency)
Looking straight ahead
out the windshield
maintaining equilibrium. (sickly sweet)
The weather vane
spins about
when the wind blows. (history)
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 11:34 AM UTC