Agony Of Defeat

Somewhere in the night,
lurking is a future fright,
it will soon be a scary sight.
A little boy in his bed,
bleeding from his little head,
parents find him, already dead.
911 the parents called,
their lives were forever stalled,
they watched his body, as he got hauled.
Mom passed out on the floor,
dad speechless, said no more,
tears followed them out the door.
He had a rare brain disease,
never again will their minds be at ease,
in life there are no guarantees.
Thousands of people came to mourn,
only three years ago, he was born.
they now live in total scorn.
Haven't been to work in weeks,
they lay in bed, no one speaks,
still blood on the child's sheets.
Family and friends tried to support,
but they all fell way to short,
they rather go to the final night court.
They took a suicide pact,
even signed a written contract,
somewhere in the world, this could be fact.

Roses are red,
Oceans are blue.
The green grass is soft with truth.
But somewhere out there,
Without a hint of despair,
I sit there in glee
Under the willow tree.

My parents have gone
Somewhere nowhere near.
Yet I shall not shed
A single tear.
I look up in the sky,
And see the birds fly,
Wishing someday to be free.

Roses are red,
Oceans are blue.
The green grass is soft with truth.
But somewhere out there,
Without a hint of despair,
I sit there in glee
Under the willow tree.

Heedless and lean,
I scramble in the weeds.
Playing with the bees,
I wonder what I need,
For I have no greed.
And just for me,
And whom I shall be,
I'll do myself one good deed.

Roses are red,
Skies are blue.
The green leaves are soft with truth.
But somewhere far out,
I do not scream or shout.
For I sit there in glee
Under the willow tree.

It's September; cold in the copses,
Feverish in the kitchen.
The sink clinks and exorcises
The china like an Italian sonata.
My lips merge into ether
At the sky, a periwinkle parallax
With the pork lard carbon monoxide
Clouds, at drive with suicide.  
My Buddha hisses at the window,
Ripping the tentacles off weedy carrots.

The knives are clever & precise
Hiding in their handled shoals
Like luminescent Jackanapes
Out for the thrill of the ****;
The **** of the stake of steak,
A 'Cow'ardly act.
I wrap the red & dead
Into a Beef Wellington.
It is not pretty at all;
But neither am I.

I'll drink tea to keep my peace,
Swallow my spirituality like a pain killer.
The teabag sags its straggled string,
Scolding me.
The pillbox is dead on the edge
Of the ornamented kitchen sill
A lot like me; sullen and teasing.
I wanted to roast my head like a potato
If the pudding *** over boiled,
A cauldron of sugar and cream
Fattening me ugly and crazy.


The weather is miserable; I mustn't lie,
It's enough to make any young woman want to die.
Stirring my thoughts with the dishes,
Trashing potato peels like my wishes.
And the stacks and stacks of ****-me pills
Surround like troops in their barricade cupboards.
I have no allies,
Everyone is asleep;
I curl up like a fat snail and weep
Blackening the words of the miracle-working Priest.

I never knew your exquisite features
could **** me in such a beautiful way.

The way your eyes
stabbed my heart and broke it into shards of glass
reminded me of the specks of blue in your eyes,
so I apologized for the terrible mess I must have caused
and the scratches I must have inflicted on your
dreamy gaze, the one I wanted to bottle up and keep
on rainy days.

The way your skin
electrified my soul after a simple touch
and disrupted the chemical flow between my sensitive nerves
made me feel so special,
so I let you
destroy me in the most lovely way imaginable.

The way your smile
caused an explosion in the pits of my stomach
and caused a herd of buffaloes to
slowly rise in the lump in my throat, made me think of
the one time they tried to explain the Manhattan Project,
so I figured the destruction you caused was only
a history lesson.

-MB