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I took my broken pain and

laid it in a cradle.


I hid it from the world

deep in the corners of my secluded dwelling -


Caressed it tenderly, and fed it

bite sized pieces of anger and

contempt.. until it

blossomed the most beautiful hatred

I had ever known


It stretched forth vines..

gnarled and twisted.. with

barbed thorns that

clung to my every limb..


enshrouding me in a deep and

comfortable nirvana .


How I hate how I love my hatred..


The only genuine gift

I can give freely.

© Nathan A. Brock
Repost from 2018
I like my coffee
The same way I like my men
I don't drink coffee.


© Nathan A. Brock
Repost from my profile on a different site circa 2017. It still makes me chuckle.
How do you hide from the mirror so well?

Your tears are so faint I almost missed them;

I almost missed you!

That fluorescent smile, so wide and so "true".

As though your mouth were not curled
around rough cinder chips…

Hide the cuts on your lips
so masterfully, too!

A smile and a laugh.. you dance like a leaf
blown by hot fume and ash…

Your tattered edge hidden from view.

No, I am not like you.

I dance more like pebbles rolled by the tide..

all scattered, and cracked…

My smile is chipped and askew...

And my laugh is absurd!

Halting and gruff..
not lovely like you.

Not chorus triumphant with heaven's imbue.

You're harp strings and viols in rhapsody blue!

And would you believe, I once had the mind

to smite myself coldly and leave me behind

to emulate all that is you?

To laugh and to sing - to dance like a flame -

to speak the way only you do!

Yes, I wanted so much to persue!

But, your lips drip with nightshade in honey-sweet dew,

so viciously rich!

My ache is entwined in their hue.

No, I could not be quite like you!

© Nathan A. Brock
I cut the chords from my throat,

Presenting them as a

Gift in homage to the

Gods of the citidel, burying my

Resentment with the

Bones of my ancestors.



I ripped the nerves from my face,

Offering my apathy to the

Wraiths that would prey on the

Bitterness of mute lamentation .



I tore the veins from my arm,

Freeing the hidden

Tears that flowed like a

Creek over my

Wrist and into silver phial.


I dipped my quill in the phial

And let the

Shadows hear the

Sound of my voice.



©Nathan A. Brock
Repost from 2018. Edited and reformatted
I don’t exist
outside the lines
on this page.

The physical has never
been my reality.

We have only circled
each other..

mutually unnoticed..

mutually indifferent..

My world is bigger
than this earth.

Yet… so small.

© Nathan A. Brock
I held my head
too high;

made it a
home in the
drifting clouds,

but the
rain came
all too soon;

and now

I fall to earth
soaked in my ignorance.

The lies have
lost their power,
leaving me to
face the truth.

My worst demons will
always haunt the
shadows of my
waking thoughts,

they will always
invade my dreams,

and I will
always fight the
longing for their
company.

It will never

be over

© Nathan A. Brock
The sounds of whispers
echo endlessly in the
mind of the ******;

unintelligible words
commingled with
toxic silence,

the mind
hovering over the void,
suspended by a
single breath held in
nervous anxiety,

awaiting the nudge of  
fates hand

-the exhale-

and then,

the slow fall.

Thus is
taken the will from the life;

thus the seedling
tears it's own roots from the
soil - leaving itself to
wilt on the asphalt-

it’s leaves turned down

hiding their faces
from the sun
they once adored;

the sun they now
reject for setting too often.

©Nathan A. Brock
Repost from 2018. Edited and reformatted.
Would you **** me if I asked you to?

The knife was loose in your hand when you heard a tremulant voice utter "anything"

That voice was not your own.

Perhaps it was mine.

You are no demon's concubine, but a wistful fae thing with eyes that strike at my heart.

That heart which you held in the palm of your hand.

Would you cut me down with that beating blade, if only I would ask?

© Nathan A. Brock
O, crawler of the night, I pray
That thou doth not resent this day.
Grudge me not that I must take
A hook to make thy belly ache.

But in this murky pond, methinks..
And as thou on an egg weight sinks,
That swimming knight in plated mail
Might be inclined to munch thy tail.

And thus be caught, yet try to sprint
From straining monofilament.
But I, Oh I, the water's lord
Shall see knight lay on cutting board.

Forgive me, friend, for this, my vice.
I'll not let fade thy sacrifice.
In verse I'll speak thy final plight..
My supper's final meal tonight.

© Nathan A. Brock
Just for fun.
It's strange.. things that sting most.

Like the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room..

Standing like a photo backdrop in memories of home.

That house is not the same.

Gutted and plasticized…

A mad surgeon with a jagged scalpel.

Walls torn down…

Reclaimed wood fencing replaced the chain link.

What happened to the Apple tree..?

I fear to think.

Pictures in a Zillow ad for me to find…

God can be cruel… yet, I  find small mercies in his work.

© Nathan A. Brock 2024
A silly young girl named Louise
Oft would squeak when she felt she would sneeze.
She squeaked and blew, then
She went scarlet red when
from behind came a squeak on a breeze.
I've never written a limerick before. this will be my first.
I am not broken...

Only cracked down the
side...

I leak as you try to
fill me... but you never
bothered to fix me
first.

Perhaps it's because you
know you can't...

You have not the skill...

Or.. perhaps.. you are
simply out of clay.

© Nathan A. Brock
That steel guitar has

cried it's last..



a shrill twang that

faded into a

chasm...



I followed that last

bitter note

until my legs struck.



A sharp crack..



As they tangled in a

heap of vinyls and

plastic cassettes.



Scratches.. white noise..



the film pulled out and

tangled in a ball.



Not that it matters , for the

only phonograph is

missing a needle...



and Post Malone is

stuck in the deck!



A  recording from the Opry...



The Opry?



No.. No...NO!



Not the Opry...



It must be mislabeled!



I must have

screamed for

hours as I played it

over... and OVER!



'The Grand Ole Opry welcomes....'



CRASH



the stereo hits the

pavement as it

shatters into tiny

fragments that fall

neatly back into their

original configuration.



'The Grand Ole Opry welcomes...'



I ran...



I ran...



but it followed...



and it consumed...



all.



©Nathan A. Brock 2024

— The End —