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Nickols May 2014
The ache is deep inside. There, just where your knife resides. Didn't I beg for your mercy? My throat screamed raw from wailing for my surrender. A barbaric answer, I did receive. Your concealed dagger buried within my left side. I stumbled and fell to the ground and watched you walk away, with a whoosh of your dark cloak. My vision blurred within deaths grasp. Left to bleed on the cold granite. Pale-white stone smeared amber. Oh, God. That awful color.

I couldn't help it my love, even with your fervent betrayal lain open and exposed. My waning eyes traced each strand of your ebony hair as the manic winds whipped them around your unhinged-grin.

"What a vision you are, my god." I whispered my ****** words staining my teeth.

You glanced back then, with the greenest of green eyes. A swirling ball of chaos with a deadly smile. The gold of your curving helmet reflecting; what could have been; what should have been between us. You looked back at me, right before you vanished in your clouds of illusions and smoke.

"I worshiped you..." I spoke to the dissipating air where you stood.

My god. My king. My lover. My killer.

"--and I trusted you." An empty echo of words ringing truth within my ears.
My time is fading in this realm. I am merely a red smudge on the ground. I question myself as I drown, lost in my sea of blood.
'How did I ever come to trust a deity of mischief and lies?'
© Victoria
  May 2014 Nickols
Smiles
I wake up every morning with this feeling of dread
Can't escape this groggy feeling left in my head
So I continue to just lay here in my bed
I don't even get up to eat I just sleep here instead
I lay and decompose as my skin starts to shed
Wasting away all the blood that I have bled
My arms dangling off the side drenched in red
My existence is pointless I might as well be dead
I don't care about anything I'm unmotivated this feeling embed
Sew my eyes and my mouth shut with needle and thread
Tie me down and pump my stomach with meds
Take a gun to my skull and fill me with lead
My sin is sloth you haven't misheard and you havent misread
I'm not okay don't believe those lies you've been fed
My deadly sin.
  May 2014 Nickols
SG Holter
When she reads, the way her
Tongue peeks out slightly
As if trying to taste the words,
Makes a full-day poem worth
Every second of dropping ink.

I love it all, she'll say.    
Even if only the first few
Lines make the side of her
Mouth curve in comprehension

The way it does when she's
Warm from being
Agreed with by whom- or
Whatever's before her.

She'll love it all, as long as I have
Words and blood in me.
She'll love it all, as long as I have ink
And we have history.

There are little diamonds
Delighting her
In the bits of white between
Every word.
Slight rewrite from first version.
Nickols May 2014
There's a ghost in my house.
Rattling handles on every door.

Throwing stones through the windows.
Sending shards to the floor.

The front door opens,
I'm escaping out the back.

The walls run red.
Striped in my ****** sins.

I cry... "Ghost... A ghost, in my house,
a haunted memory in sheets of white."

But I'm told, it's all in my head.
Given an oval pill to wash it away.

Lying in bed,
the moans and groans
start again.

I have a ghost in my house.
Not a figment of my imagination.

A ghost who rattles handles
into the dead of night.  

A ghost of white sheets
and fading memories.

A ghost
of my past offenses and greed.
© Victoria
Nickols May 2014
Time.
A
fickle
thing,
indeed.

Neither here
Nor there.

But
somewhere
always
in
between.
© Victoria
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