Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
It hides itself
Better of late
That old companion
In my shadow
That perpetual  
Creeping malaise
Coiling inside my brain

Never springing
Only cr  e      e p             i n g




Logic and common sense.
A lord of fear
Undermining mental
Immune systems
Playing my emotions

Like a violin concerto–
Devil's chord

Out of tune socially    

But then I see her
In her vulnerable position
That sweet  

        Innocent child/woman
Who props up my remains
Who takes me back
To simpler times
And youthful joys

When the hooded cobra
Was in embryonic form.
This one constant in my life
Keeps the cobra at bay

But it waits just outside the camp
Taunting me
Whispering just low enough
So I can't make out what
It is saying.

But how can one make out hissing?!

When you were always told
That you are fine
Nothing's wrong
Maybe a little neurotic sometimes

What can you do
Be reduced to a catatonic state?
Where can you hide but in your shadow?

                --Daniel Irwin Tucker
That "child/woman" is my wife, my love, my soul mate of decades
Lux Falls Apr 2017
Every night
Every smile you inflict me with
Takes another part of my heart
And everyday
Starts the same
I wake up dazed and aching
A numbed hurt and a little insane
Feeling a burn in my feet and a hole where my heart was
I stumble out and find myself following you
To the edges of the earth
Running to you
While you barely recognise
That I'm someone
Just in your rear view
Swanswart Aug 2016
Emperor patriarch enemy family
encyclopedia room flamboyance
and the minions of civilization bow
creviced foreheads etched
with hieroglyphic concentration
pantomiming the harmony of
banana splits dripping
on fireplace slippers
woven into the stories
your neighbors greeted you with
from the other side of the hedge

on the night the great comet arced
into our living rooms
and we kissed oh so
TV-like with the laugh track
clapping in time with the sprinklers
cha cha change the diaper ditty
after supper over done
under the influence
and in a fix
me another martini
extra olives
the smell of negligence
on her creamy pampered thighs
and the aromatic evidence
of lawn mower trim
on her teddy
bareness slipping away into comfort

the children wagering battle
plans with a mouse clicking
crayons left in box
cars matched tickets scratched
windows latched
hobo toxic shock n awe
to see abandominiums
littering lots in crackopolis
virtual and simulated
between the in laws
and the outlaws
the grand apparentless routine
on display

could I borrow a toaster
or waffle with your wife
over the last stick of butter
backdoor banter about
Soldier of fortune
your last subscription
to the mercenary position of
the cul de sac coup d’état
taking place in spinning
class conscious of the fourth
estate third world second
generation first born zero
down home subdivisions
of the disenchanted
evening news is on excuse

that the whole thing is fixed
mortgages futures the lottery
tuition and everybody wins
army navy air force marines
corpses floating cross culture
reference guides to prescription
medication of futile society
Jonesing with the keeping
ups and out of product till
prime time reminds us
why we’re all here

waiting for the aliens
to excavate us.
Nico Reznick Jan 2016
It's been a dark and ***** start to the year, and altogether
too many of my heroes are dead.
Too many of the old
villains too; those familiar monsters
are gone, replaced
by new and more appalling terrors,
as fear is rebranded for a freshly emergent demographic.
All the girls are much too young for me. Everyone
is too young for me.
When they speak, I hear
only static, like
the ghosts of extinct, pre-digital
TV screens haunting the
empty beauty of their
dead channel mouths.
In the supermarket, they've taken to
playing songs I like on their
in-store radio, wedged between
corporate jingles and adverts for
two-for-one offers on
hot dogs in jars, and I'm
so irrelevant I could cry.
I'm struggling with the world and my
own inability to find somewhere
I can be in it. I can't relax, can't
stop fighting against inertia, contentment
and any hope of peace. Maybe drugs
are the answer, but I think they'd just
make me forget the question.
I feel the cold, and I
want to sleep too much. I miss
my bad habits, but not enough
to relapse. I'm not
young enough or cute enough
to get away with
this much ******* angst.
I used to be smart
I used to be strong
But these last few years
Have torn me apart
I lost who i am
Sometimes i think
That I've come to far
*To find my way home
Do you ever get the feeling
Of great malaise
Right from birth
Feeling displaced
Of being born
At an ill time and place
Waiting only
For our place in the dirt
I suppose id say I'm a **** up
All the things I've tried
They all withered up
And died
I guess some people
Are just born to cry
Lie on the side walk
And slowly die
Alessander Mar 2015
She sat beneath the high-noon blinds
The light too garish - spilling bleach
Not the soft song that falls behind
Far-off horizons of aural beach

No, this was hill-light - mountain-light
It was harsh, abstract, Cézanne
Cutting deep into each crevice - dust-mites
Irradiated at dawn

Overlooking every balcony
Of barking mutt - of barbeque
She craved for an epiphany
To change how she perceived the view

To find some meaning in the pools
The bars - the plastic awnings
She muttered, “I am such a fool”
Then took a drag and kept on longing.
Next page