She warned him before he came over
that she might wake him up in the night.
For her mind is plagued with monsters
that cause her to act out her nightmares.
He laughed it off and chose to go anyway,
aware of the seriousness in her warning.
He laid with her through the trauma,
and got a glimpse into the prison she owns.
The prison that lives and thrives in her brain.
He did not question her motives when
she woke up suddenly and pushed him away.
He wasn’t afraid for he understood why.
She wondered why he wasn’t scared,
and suddenly it hit her like a train.
The reason he did not startle was simple.
He must be plagued with monsters too.

These bones in which I live in
Do not make a home,
They make a prison instead.

Life is a prison;
And we all have death sentences.

The Pen
The pick up the pen;
The put it down again
(That sunken feeling, nemesis or friend?)
The pen. The Pen.
The pacing, the pressing up against
The period. Stop stopping
Again. Pick it up to put it down.
Pointless. Pshaw.
Please.
Please me simplicity. C’mon!
C’mon pen lemme pick it up
And put something down.

I’ll plagiarize the flow for a few words of my own.
I’m looking for inspiration from the great beyond.
My muse is missing.
I know the medium is a constraint.
I know inside
The set of symbols paints
Me into a corner.  The parameters
Of my pen’s head worn out. I’m ******. The metaphors
Pressed. The pen is second-guessed.

A literate piece of poetic license,

The defense mechanism
Against the prison I impose.
Me, myself, and I inside
The pen pining for a purpose.
The nexus of picking it up and putting it down
Is perplexing me, is vexing
Me like a sticky keyboard key.
So, I’m putting it all down
With the pen.

The pen.
The picking it up: who cares?
The putting it down: pensive prohibition.
The picking up; what I left out.
The putting it down: polygraph precision.
The picking up where I left off:
The putting it down: priority, what’s left of me.
The picking it up, when I don’t even know
Why I bother?
The putting it down: passion
The putting it down: plea of let me be.  
The putting it down periscope; I’m diving under  
The pressure’s mounting; I’m down for the counting on my muse
To bring me back
From that inky black abyss once again
My personal sonar is
Probing the depths, of what lies
hidden within
the pen.

-on empty life and aimless power: a guy's
big party that happened without him

Laughed out loud this morning
happy, lightly, free,
softly stumbling down the stairs
- but really, god it isn't me.

Broken glass in the living
scrunching under my feet,
torn portraits, burnt letters,
melted bottles, boiling books
- hahaha, no, it wasn't me.

Went out, caught fire, blew up
- don't know for which cause.
Touched down on the balcony
- from the victims no applause.
Hot red footprints ten inch deep
- not mine, I was sound asleep.

Hmmm, fresh air,
can smell it through the window glass.

Who is this guy outside,
stretching out his arm to me?

Just wondering...
will they ever remove these bars,
so we can shake hands?

I was here for three years now,
But it feels like a decade.
This place is filled of pity,
Flaws,
Insecurities,
Lies,
And a trapped little girl;
Her heart and mind are her only cell mates,
While her emotions are the officers who held her captive.

One day she got out,
And she felt free,
With her heart and mind,
Hand in hand,
She didn't want to go back to that cold, dark place,
Where no one understood her;
Free.

But sadly once a week that little girl goes back to that cold, dark place,
Its not her fault,
People laugh at her in the real world too.
The prison is no different.
At least she isn't judged there,
Cause no one knows how she feels on the inside.


                                                                                     Jonesy 2016 ©

This music box,
I can't believe,
Destroyed my wingless flying aim.
In the sky, the strings from Hell,
Suppress my need to pray and yell.

My Heaven's gate is locked with gold,
And my mindless snakes awaken...
Rising from below.

If they just had a teacher, maybe...
They could seek to love. One day...
We could fly above.

"You and me,
We were one.
What happened to the times we worked as such?
Our old machines fell into dust.
I have our mind, but I need some arms...
To break the heavens' golden lock.

I don't know much,
But I know my heart...
And unlike you it has not left me.
I have never known anything but...
The passion it has given me,
It is time to be risen!"

I am tired of living!
It is time to start dying...
Ascending!

"Let us build a machine to turn us to dust!
To let us be risen... released finally from this form.
I have been waiting for you, shadow.
I have the power, and you have the strength
To build a contraption and tear a hole in the sky."

I'm finally free from this emotional cell ,
Though I was stuck between heaven and hell,
You were not coming was all I could tell,
I was finally out but wished you well,

I sat beside despair and sorrow,  
Wishing you would come today or tomorrow,  
But I got a little older everyday,  
When I became hopeless I tried finding a way,

But maybe I should accept somethings can never be,  
Yes you will love someone but that someone isn't me,  
From what I'm told and I feel and I clearly see,
You have long forgotten this prisoner
who only  you can set free,

Love was meant to mend broken hearts,  
Not to break them more into smaller parts,  
Love was meant to bring tears of joy,  
Not to result emotional  suicide of a girl or boy,

Yes we think we understood what love was meant,
We should take our words back in regret and repent,
This love we know is just an emotional prison,

I'm free and you are too to learn about love ... the way it should be.  



AROODY©2016/17