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Kathryn Maurine Jun 2017
The Art of Subconscious Illusion is an elusive tendency towards the averse,
             or rather,
the act of lying to oneself

        Oft times you’ll find yourself wondering how...
             …how you lost her…how you lost love…

                            how you lost yourself

         Your mind a jumble of
               spiral static,
         coils of confusion, twisting malevolently,

                             failing and falling,
                   flawed and faulty,
          feeble and fading,

you slowly begin to yearn for a second chance,
        wish that you had performed more charmingly in the blistering tragedy of feelings lost...

but there are few second chances in the misfortunes of life.
      the damage is done, and now you must live with the consequences
       of a dying will to persist in this journey,
                              the ups
                                                the downs
                                the laughter
                                                        ­ the pain
after endless days of convincing yourself you’re not to blame you finally see it for what it is...
                    You made the choice
     you made your bed, and now you must lie in it…

and as you slowly make your way towards the reclining ***** of the soft satin covers you’ll begin to see….

it was not a bed your actions relayed....
                                                              was a coffin
Kathryn Maurine Apr 2017
It’s rather difficult to comprehend what’s going on in situations of mass chaos
There’s a man laying in a pool of his own blood, next to a young child with his arms detached, a box of knives, a pile of rags, an overturned safe.
How can one possibly make sense of it all with the constant buzzing of the fan…
That’s how it happens
Lives so precious taken in an instant, from the conception of the ****** carried through to this serene silence of the scene at hand
That’s where we are now,
the tranquil peace of the absence of life, no struggling, no pain
just vacant stares and the crimson red of the blood pooling around their bodies
There’s something beautiful about the silence  
something that draws you in, yet the eerie nature of it brings you a sense of dread
A sense of dread that I created
I think to myself, it must be raining outside, but I know that can’t be true…
I look down to see my palms are raining blood
Kathryn Maurine Mar 2017
Laughing and laughing, your mind a never ending joke of insanity.
           Laughing for jokes, laughing for tragedies,
laughing simply because life is full of horrors.

Scars and laughter,
        Your life is described in two words, scars and laughter. Wanna know    how I got these scars? Laughter, insanity, a fathers drunken rampage, all            feasible reasons as to the origin of scars.

         Sinister twisted laughter of darkened rooms,
Laughing and laughing,
           laughing for tragedies, laughing for horrors.
Why are you laughing? Horrors of the world, corrupted men elicit mirth.

      Scars and laughter,
Whose scars?        The scars of the insane man whose laughter haunts
the dreams of men, women, and children.
          Laughing and laughing, why does he have scars?
Scars, a permanent smile for a face too serious.

      Laughing and laughing, laughing for tragedies, laughing for horrors,
Tragedies strike, who’s to blame? The insane man, his mind a never-   ending joke of madness.
      Laughing for jokes, jokes of the corrupt, laughing for tragedies, lost  lives of the innocent, laughing for horrors, horrors he himself inflicts upon   men, women, and children.

Scars, permanent scars,
     Laughing for horrors, horrors he himself has encountered, a psychotic rampage,
             How did he get those scars? His permanent smile, Was it for   laughter? Not laughter, but a lack thereof, only to find the hilarity too late    as his face is marred by his permanent smile.  

       Laughing and laughing, scars and laughter, twisted mind of a psychotic jester,

scars from the question:

Kathryn Maurine Mar 2017
I peer out the porthole into the chaos of the storm,
Disorder, my sole companion

Blue waves crash along the jagged rocks
sprays of melancholic gloom
the wind howls
sounding like the ghosts of past memories
decayed wooden docks rotting from
the salty air
a wailing gust originates from the rusting iron of the ships hull
a hex is placed on it’s journey as the shadowy vessel tears through
the gloomy waters of its past

The past is only a memory,
as I find myself once again in the company of madness
Kathryn Maurine Mar 2017
How horrible it was
to wake up to your cries for help.
I came to find you had fallen,
your oxygen disconnected,
the clear tubes lying in a tangle
on your bedroom floor.

At first, you had been conscious,
your beautiful brown eyes looked up at me pleadingly,
and then you were gone.

I was alone and terrified,
having dealt with this before
I couldn’t say it was anything new,
but this time was different than the script of
past events.

Wishing I could escape like a bird in flight,
I knew I had no power to save you,
The harsh truth of my reality
suffocated me. My walls closing in
as I realized what was happening
in this moment.

Prior to this,
you had always made it to the hospital alright,
arguing with paramedics,
but this time,
you were motionless and cold.

I’ll never forget the blue stillness of your lips,
or the way the light left your eyes
as you departed the material world
and finally found peace in eternal rest.
requiescat in pace
Kathryn Maurine Mar 2017
You say we’re in love,
you say it’s forever…a hundred years to be precise,
yet here I sit, alone with the wonder of insincerity

He says we’re in love…
or rather he said we were,
That’s in the past

Messages exchanged were dripping
with admiration and joy,
Daily reminders of love dwindled to
daily, weekly, monthly… gone

“I love you” was something I was too used to hearing,
took for granted even… and now?
you won’t even respond to a simple hello

you can’t blame me to think our love has met it’s end

When your gut is in tangles,
writhing like snakes, your tongue inundated with the bitterness of dread,
There’s a reason people say to trust your gut… and here I am,
with the unabating feeling that something’s gone terribly wrong

Many would say its emotional abuse, yet I can’t seem to notice that trend…
He’s making a game of your emotions, they say,
yet here I stay

I’ll be waiting in this silence forever,
waiting for a call that never comes…
waiting with a love that’s been forgotten

— The End —