Smoking at the mirror, sulking in a brittle rage,
One so strong, that it easily turns the page.
Without even blinking, I spit powerful words,
Cutting at my ethereal flesh like swords,

Hoping however, I will never run out of mettle,
Hoping the cuts will petrify, letting them settle,
As a great red crack in the skin, for me to wonder
If my swords have risen only from a simple blunder.

My consternation renders me catatonic,
Only the clash of fingers on the keyboard makes me tonic…
While her, she brings me to the doors of Heaven,
From where we drown the world under in a sweet Armageddon.

Most of the snow has cleared except
for the ***** piles on street corners.
A black car treads behind me,
it's driver on the phone-
distracted but keeping pace.
I cannot help but focus on the phone,
black all over it's surface except for the screen,
which is so brightly lit
it is as if the sun were in the black car
still behind me-
and still distracted.
My car continues forward under the sun above,
which has long since shifted from yellow to red.

An engorged tide crashes into my side like an eighteen wheeler.
Or, perhaps it's a wave of indifference,
merely crashing down upon me-
pushing me beneath it's apathy.
Though, it could be nothing
and we are all simply drowning.

The sea has calmed.
The swell and crash has died down
to a gentle, rocking ebb and flow.

The driver behind me has left his black car
behind the green sun.
He is still on his black phone,
ushering frantic words and numbers.

Red and blue moons pull me from the water,
away from the moonlit rise and fall
and into a dark, entangling thicket devoid of clarity-
locking me in place.
And, on the body-
my body-
which lays ensnared under Sirens,
is an anxiety so large
it is responsible for the currents of the ocean.

I was so worried,
so ******* scared
because I opened myself up to you,
felt how it burned to take you in,
indulged in how good it was
to be naked, torn open and vulnerable—
at risk,
going ahead despite the little voice in my head
that told me the entire time
"this could ruin your life".
I was awestruck,
how at odds it was to find pleasure in terror.

Well I had contingency plans in place,
pills and alcohol and bruises
just in case you exploded inside me
and ripped me apart.
Even if you did, I knew you'd still be there
to fix the problems
just to cause them all over again,
bursting and mending, erupting and clearing up the mess
over and over and over;
maybe that's why I went ahead and did it.

By God, I've never felt so sick to my stomach
than I did when you looked me in the eyes
and I realised I couldn't stop,
couldn't run away like I usually would.
And yet I wasn't hurting,
wasn't splitting apart at the seams—****
wasn't that scary.
5 AM and standing over the sink,
staring into my own tired eyes
and observing the abuse left by insomnia's hands:
sunken shadows bruising sleepless eyelids.
I smiled because, darling,
never before has it felt so good to bleed.

I see a deer,
by a cold babbling,
partly frozen brook,
he's taking a quenching needed drink.

He looks my way,
& gives me a wise,
careful long stare,
with a curious look,
& sweetly wistful wink,

I look up to the twilight sky,
then he's just...

g
  o
    n
      e
         .
           .
          .
           .

In just a single momentary silent blink.

I stop a moment,
sigh
I stop to appreciate,
watch & thank him,
as I sit on a mossy frozen log,
to stop,
- to think,

I hear a sound,
my heart,
hitting bottom,
as I feel it just..

                   S
                      I
                        N
                           K

G...
     O...
          N...
              E... ,

A shockingly loud-

B L A S T

A single gunshot,
wound,
I'm the one bleeding,
Oh no!
and now I'm the charge of this leaking,
& all of this unholy ink.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Endless roads with shattered glasses,
they bur into an aching feet,
looking for some soft green grasses,
or anywhere to take a seat,

Travel on in distant darkness,
looking for a tiny light,
blinded by the endless starkness,
as you go off into the night,

Submit,
to NOTHING.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Sand slips through the cracks in my hands
As a struggle to keep it close.
It always finds a way to go,
No matter how tight I hold.
My grip must be weak,
Or maybe it’s betraying me.
Because a better part of me knows
The sand will always slip away.