Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I wonder about the boy on the park bench
He sit's on the left- I on the right,
We sit in silence waiting for our rides to arrive.
I worry that he won't be there one morning
I've developed an attachment to him.
I've noticed his scrapes and scars
and I think he's noticed mine.
It was Sunday morning,
we sat together,
no buses to take or
time to keep
But closer than usual
Our breath clouds the freezing air around us
We sip alcohol from our coffee mugs
Our lips locked, bodies steamed.
I think I am in love with
The boy on the park bench.
You expect me to be perfect.
But this I'll never do.

I'm a killer not a queen.
Guess I'll never be you.

I choose to loathe, not love.
Hate you, instead of hear you.

Sweet Immortal? Why bother?
If you only rob her.

Of her soul, of her spirit!
Now you try hearing it.

The pains and the cries
While you just waste and die.

You mortals fall for her.

The girl with the red eyes can always read your mind.

You're blind to her world,
The Lonely Sweet Immortal Girl.
Hush, little witch, don’t say a word;
They’re coming with fire and rope
To tie you to the radiator.

Speak softly, little witch,
Hide away your hat and cloak;
The cat mustn't mew in the corner,
And you must sweep the floors.

The hearts of mortals are weak,
they see shadows and devils within you.
Hush, little witch, quiet your angels.

Feed them lies, little witch,
Don’t let them see you!
The truth will not set you free, here, it will let you burn!
For all your power to do good, they are blind, little witch;
Let them see with your eyes, but pretend they are not yours.

Oh, child why are you crying?
You were born into madness
And you will die in madness,
Lest you  end in fire.

Servants of love, this is our curse;
Our horrible and beautiful curse.
I’m sorry.
This isn’t what I wanted for you,
But it’s the price we pay to be angels.
Map
Three little deer in the headlights, on
a nice midnight stroll, grazing
the neighbors grasses while I
wait patiently in the mini-van
for you to come find me.

He stumbles drunk, I can smell the
liquor before it reaches my automatic window
rolling down to let some fresh air through
these anxious, aching bones.

The night passes, not with ease
or grace, but with melancholy as
I look upon a ghost of my past, lying
quiet on the khaki tiled bathroom
floor, help

There's yelling and screaming, and I cry
myself to sleep for hours, while his once
happy, now dull eyes sit and watch
quietly, while tears stain my broken
smile, broken heart.

I muffle the sounds of my weeps with
the cotton blanket covering me, and
although thoughts swim through
my skull, there is nothing to say.

The silence echoes, though,
not out loud, but inside, and I
can feel the numbness taking over
once again. And it scares me, not
because I've lost you, but
because I've lost myself.


© A. Leigh

— The End —