Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
And my mind is
right where
I left
it.
These words were left behind on the nightstand of my deceased uncle, Carl Leigh Will. A lifetime of crippling alcoholism and major depression met him with his untimely demise, dead on the floor of a supermarket after one week of sobriety he'd achieved.

His linguistic brilliance rivaled even the beatniks - and yet, the talent died upon the birth of an addict.

Here is a piece of what otherwise, will never be.

Absorb it how you wish.
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
My daily activities range between avoiding most things
to avoiding all things.
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.)
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
I crawled out of bed
Adjusted my thoughts
My heart on my sleeve
And my stomach in knots

I damaged my brain
To powder my nose,
The abyss of my conscience . . .
As the wind blows

I grabbed at my gloves
Pulled on my pretense
Confused and uncertain
Why life felt so dense

The life that I saw
On med after med
Now only exists
Within Maple’s head

In front of you, now
Gift wrapped and retouched
Hope you like what you see
Cause I don’t very much

Dressed and well-practiced
In subtle charade
I’ve nothing but danced
This stark masquerade.
All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
Parades of knaves,
And smitten sheep;
Came to pervade
OUR hide and seek...

Depraved – I caved
To strut; to seek
Tirades of graves
With CREEP antiques.

CHARADES engraved
On my physic;
Enslaved, I waved
Through gift-wrapped chic.


For Beneath enclaves,
She seeks the meek
whose souls – she'd flay,
To Hide-and-TWEAK.
All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
Last class:*

Muddled mind and bleary eyed
Concentration took a fall
Find a hollow - crawl inside
Lost the pills to Now-Tow Hall

Benzos - always second choice
Wear my Kpen like a shawl
Want to whine with all my voice
GIVE ME BACK MY ADDERALL

This class:

**Iris in on what's inside
Orange bottle of enthrall
Guidance, I will not abide
my true love - oh adderall

Tweaking out with pupils wide
Shrink my presence, oh so small,
Temptations I will all abide
Personified a mere rag doll.
All poems original Copyright © 2015, 2016.
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
As a footnote, I’ve always held a certain regard for those plentiful fruits. Raspberries. Small and juicy and sweet. Quick and easy.

Now, it’s apples on the other hand I heavily despise.

To eat an apple is to make a commitment. Society generally frowns upon those who eat half an apple, just to toss out the rest. And most people are not exactly bargaining for your leftovers once they’re brown and teeth marked. Apple eating is a long and rigorous ordeal. Halfway through, the raw parts begin to stain or dry and when you’re finally finished, you’ve still got to deal with that core and the skin that’s stuck in your teeth. Herein, apples and commitments become synonymous. Convenience, the antonym.

Raspberries, however, are miniature, and zesty, and only last for a matter of seconds.

**Not unlike ideal high school relationships.
An excerpt from my novel - Pretense.

(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.)
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
Just a Game. . .

In the comfortable stockade of my mind
Hide and seek cannot be won
Tip­toe away and find a hollow,
The solitary spot
Slipping between turmoil
Festering in alcoves
Always waiting; back tensed,
Adrenalin sheathing the silence
If I remain undetected
Perhaps the seeker will ease off,
Forget the ollie ollie in comfree
Leave me stowed away.
Much later, I could creep into safety
Call a truce, change spots...
Yet unmarred, the same old rules;
Vicious whispers that ask of unknown.
Meaningful glances and gritted teeth,
The shock of lush green eyes chasing down memory lane.
Wake up, Maple. Wake up.
But I wouldn’t, and it didn’t matter.
Because the stabbing whispers would continue inside;
Dueling emotions I long ago left at bay.
Reside there, waiting.
Counting.
Watching.

*Ready or not,
Here
We
Come.
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.)

— The End —