Crying for abstract reasons
Bewitched by a beautiful curse
I am aware of my insanity
The land of my artistic lunacy
My silence is an antidote
Something vital is missing in me
I could only tell this to a poet
Only he would feel what I mean
But this restlessness, I miss home
What is that noise?
Whose is that voice?
The endless music inside my head,
I need to know,
The answers lie within me
And I need to go.

I am sorry.

Three words that can help heal
Yet we often find it so hard to utter
Our pride gumming up our tongues
So they lay silent, our lips mute
I have never understood that difficulty
To take responsibility
Regardless the action
We are built to withstand pain
Not create it

Look around you.

Pain is an art form
One we have perfected
In what could be the sunset of our civilization
We are still as un-evolved emotionally
As our dawning
Such great pains are taken in the name of progress
Foul atrocities that stain our hands
When working together, as one heart
One whole
We could have sparkled bright in these last rays
Instead we are judge and executioner
With little thought to how we will look
When that sun rises again

I wander through the mist,
the heavy air by sunlight kissed,
yet now too late to dissipate,
crushing, unrelenting weight,
maybe we can coexist.
The sodden earth beneath me lay
trodden normally on by day,
though now was overcast by gray,
the fog that did persist,
the bog would not decay,
I wished that I could stay.
But then ahead appeared a light,
to my dismay, far out of sight,
how could it be, as dark as night
I thought it was today.
A slimy serpent crossed my path,
and with a smile, hissed,
humbled by its vile wrath,
I wander through the mist.

I hear her name
murmuring on the breeze.
A hushed whisper
filtering through my soul,
caressing my thoughts
awakening my mind.

Our spirits touched
as our lives entwined.
A brief connection
exposing our needs,
revealing destiny;
making promises.

Now she's gone
leaving a lifeless void.
A silent emptiness
so dark and cold
and fate smirks cruelly,
as I mourn her passing.

Sifting through this
self-induced chaos,
weaving within
disconnected thoughts,
in sibilant utterances:
I hear her name.

©Paul Chafer 2014

is when they mess with your head
light fires in your mouth
and make you hide in your bed

put stones in your heart
to drag you deep down under
they fight and they fight
their screams predictable as thunder

the rain is the part that gathers in mom's eyes
when she keeps you up late
to tell you lies
lying on the couch
her arm over her face
foundation in streaks
like old dry erase

it's when she lets you stay up late
to read to her specially
just to give her departure
more brevity

when she kisses you on the cheek
and holds you tight
then calls the cops on dad
that same night

when she only gives you presents
to make you feel bad
when she feels better
by making you sad

emotional abuse
is when she calls on a restricted number
tells you she loves you
but won't let you see your little brother
when she slaps you in the face
slams your arm in a door
well
maybe that's not
emotional abuse anymore...

when she tells you she loves you
but leaves anyway...
abuse is abuse,
it all feels the same.