There’s residue on my torso, dark twisted and tainted by blood. I’ve seen this once before, convinced that I would never be here again The aesthetics are casualties of war. I’ve lost control of the cannon in my chest.
I have a hole in my life where my love should be. Every time I meet someone they take from me when they leave.
I’m beginning to become fragile.
Had I known love would be this violent, I never would’ve allowed my vessel to enter this war. Too much has been lost building memories with the enemy and there is no way to return from the heartbreak of defeat.
I’m not weak, just broken. My sails are tattered and weary, the cannon in my chest was once able to fire at will but now its battered condition has rendered it almost useless because it’s so heavily guarded.
The darkness that surrounds my heart is a protector of sorts, it’s a heavy blanket of fog that keeps me hidden from the sadness in the world. It’s a reminder of the blood that was shed when I went to battle with her; it’s the cover I need to rebuild the hull and set sail to reclaim the depths of the oceans that belong to me.
I Captain this ship and I will not be overthrown by the hands of women and I will not be defeated by those who betrayed me! I refuse to drown in sorrow, searching for treasures and trinkets that can only be found on a map that no man can read.
I’ve taken heavy fire but I will not surrender. My ears will not burn by the cry of a siren’s song.
I was sentenced to a life of moving through galaxies of resentment, cursed to bear the punishment for crimes committed by those who came before me.
I will not be punished for another man’s sin. I will no longer give in to temptations set in the figure of a dishonorable woman. Evils will no longer forsake me. I shall never falter.
A one way ticket up, the man never questioned it, then again, neither did I
Walking down the trail, grapes are raining and the pain in my stomach isn't waning, reality is collapsing all over again and all i can taste is almonds.
These boulders are spiraling out of control, but since when have I had control? The head of the goat looks me in the eyes as the sun sets over the range, "Man, you guys are brave", but why? Am I on the edge?
give me a chance to take you out for one last night in the city,
as the angels sleep on the sidewalks, and the reptiles snore in the white house.
I'm crying alone while your friends check their phones, smoke their vapes, and Brady the dog nudges my leg with his snout, soft as a napkin wiping breadcrumbs off a table.
Chipotle before we write diary entries for our children who look like your ex-boyfriend. Tell them stories past their curfew, as their heads cloud with dreams, where nothing but beauty blooms, and sadness goes to pasture, to be cooked on a rotisserie, and spit out into bits.
like your flesh when it's been burnt by a lighter. so listen up, finish your game of FIFA, then make me laugh, so that I could forget about yesterday's fight.
it's place a drift as if coalescence made it float through trees
within. the charcoal maker the makers wife and scurrying creatures with feet and paws
without. smoke. wisps of first industry leading to harvested piles seasoning by breathing clamps.
points of turf covering designed stacks. an inferno strangled by it's master briar hanging loosely tasting tobacco while listening for betraying crackles and looking for beacons of yellow showing as cracks in dried earth.
fire here is burning money. burning time
they have none to spare
behind him stacked in sacks charcoal dry and ready for Jack the cannon maker.
where finally the fire suppressed by the maker would burn in forced air with anger enough to melt iron. Blast the sky with sparks and toast Jack's leather.
in the woods the smoke rise and fell while the master vent seals vent seals
Fools blather about the glory of the fight And don’t hear the mothers crying at night. The wives of those marauders on the roam Cry because their husbands can’t come home. The children of these battle-addicted men Go away, eyes ashine, never to return again. And still the moneyed few, urge on toward Yet those godlings never pick up a sword.
Mandates from government palaces abound But not as many as the dead on the ground. People are expendable to the military, There are no pensions in the cemetery. It’s all about honor they tell the press. Leaving someone else to clean the mess.
Fight for liberty and freedom, they say. They really mean die for them every day. It’s all about profit and always was. It’s that and no more noble cause When a nation not being attacked Falsely claims they’re striking back. Then goes on to leave thousands dead So they can wear a crown upon their head.
If you see no words of shame in this Then you have found what is amiss. These people are not motivated by grace. They have the look of evil upon their face. They already own most of what is here But they keep a running tally all year. As too much is not enough they crave, Even if that puts us all in our grave.
I smoke cigarettes to deaden the taste of you against my teeth. You are. You will be. You were the only one.
The bile rises up into my throat like swords slicing the flesh of innocent men. The rage contaned in me is that of a cannon in the breeze.
I am light.
You are dead.
I loved you with passion. Red roses. Satin sheets. A racing heart. And a jealous mind.
You slipped through my fingers like hot wax in icewater. Your name tears my muscles and breaks my bones.
Showers made me feel clean. Now I'm covered in oil. I'm drenched in the feeling of your sweat against mine. The sound of your breath in my ear shatters my reality. It throws my mind back into a cyclone filled with pretty things you said. And all of the lies that dripped out from between your lips.
I thought you cared.. I thought we meant something.
We were nothing greater than myself.
We were nothing greater than the air we breathed. And the wars we set inside ourselves.
Copyright Julia DeFoor 2015. All Rights Reserved. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.