Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
I traveled down that pathway
I leveled my demise
My nose was an express train
Aiming for the skies. . .

I headed towards the house of crust
I swallowed all that white
Disguised within a golden husk
I crumbled with delight

I lay the rabbit on the spot
I crushed it with my rock
Up the hole, into the brain
The rabbit goes to flock

I chase it deep within my mind
I’d play with it forever
It snakes and weaves around the line
My smile, the true endeavor.
Musings born betwixt the crux of addiction, and the shackles of Avoidant Personality Disorder; documented by the poster-child for both.

(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
Bottle after bottle
Lay under my bed,
An ache in my stomach
A throb in my head

And yet, I won’t cease
This pattern, can’t sever
This alcoholism
Will go on forever.

A problem I have
I’ll gladly admit,
But the concept of stopping?
I'll never commit

Some people want wealth,
Some people want love
My concept of happiness
Lies in the drugs.
All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
In the time you were gone, I found myself filled with extra space. Nothing too obvious; not gaping holes in my stomach, nor chunks from my arm. Rather, they were minute cracks that ensnared me. These unwanted holes appeared at random; when someone spoke of sandwiches, I felt a soft ***** in the back of my mind. When I encountered a full moon, I felt a throb in the tips of my fingers. And sometimes, when I caught sight of a dollar bill, a pang of nostalgia bit me somewhere deep down in my chest. This discomfort never lasted long. These cracks never formed one excruciating pain – the kind that fully consumes, but diminishes over time like a large hole in a wall that will soon be filled in. These cracks I felt, this empty space, it affected me demurely. As some cracks were filled in, new ones spread forth. My disrepair did not increase nor decrease in the years to come, but rather, spread out to different locations, as I patched and filled along the way. My foundation as a person grew perpetually flawed, yet remained stable enough to stay upright. My eventual remedy was to simply remember this; I am a structure made of concrete. Wear me down, and all you get is more concrete. In this way, it was okay that you were gone. In this way, I discovered the weight of time and also, the art of saying goodbye.
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
Rigid, my mind
Tight fastened in thought
Alone, save the loudest
Of volumes you sought;

A rhythm surrounds me:
The beat never stops.
My wrist – ever pounding
Sleeve dripping, nonstop.

These sounds are resources
You’ll never see bought –
So rare, and so special
Yet, mine? They are not.

“Gems?” You do ponder,
As pure as could be.
You hear not this beating?
Live hearts seal my sleeve!

I gathered each one
From men and from lovers
Then, left them undone
To never recover

These hearts I collect
As one might a stamp,
Each choking my wrist;
All broken and damp

As wet hearts do bleed
Each torn from one’s chest
The blood, you’ll not see
It’s ink they express!

“Now, why not your own?”
You wonder, distressed
But my chest is empty:
Forlorn, dispossessed.

My heart is no more –
I searched sea to see.
“How so?” You deplore.
‘Twas taken from me!

In place of a heart
I now hold a pen;
I’ll never be whole –
Likewise to all them:

I **** all these lovers
Must spare not these men
For one sole ingredient
Will satisfy pen.

Such hearts I do mention
Once, twice, and again
Draw ribbons of ink,
Gliding fresh to my pen


Rigid, your mind
Interrupting my thoughts
Becoming the loudest
Of volumes not sought

“Release and replace!”
A mere noise; you infest;
Oh, leave me alone,
Or your heart will be next!
Tales of a succubus: the cycle of abuse, as told by the perpetrator.




(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
Your fingers of mesmer
Trace patterns on me,
Your words are the pavement;
Your eyes are the sea

Treading in words
That flood to the brink;
Your presence, my muse
Your essence, my ink.
(The unwavering time/When you hold my gaze/Keeps minutes, sublime -/Internal caches).



All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
(Inspired by
a lifelong stranger)

These chronicles slinked from her chassis
– the mythomaniac;
she sold every copy.
Stories only fabulists could ink,
sealed within her schticks.
She enthralled every reader;
her cossets: spellbinding.
The husk of an angel
masked
THE Pariah within.
Caped in pretense,
lidded,
she skulked.
The blossoming killer…
Come
Hither.

And yet.

Your web of lies was spun so thick
It's you,
up there,
Ensnared.
You wrote the rules, cunstructed the game, invited the whole world to play.
But in the end
it was YOU
who
lost.
❤️
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.)
  Feb 2016 Rheanna S
Maple Mathers
Welcome to the house of addictions: please, leave your assumptions at the door. . .

             I emptied my pockets
I sorted the change
                My conscience receding
Mentality, deranged

                A straw in my nose
And a blade in my hand
                The velvet of breathing,
Crushed on command

                A line of white rabbit
Appears on my desk
                Clean, and well sorted,
Yet I am a mess

                If a substance is stronger
Than myself, alone,
                Perhaps I should ***** it
Addictively prone

                For, the path of assumptions
Undoubtedly leads
                To the house of addictions
In which you’ll find me. . .
All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.
Next page