#wolfgang
The notes like angels fall upon the
paper submissive on the lines.
As if they were meant to mean more
than just a ceremony
of notes.
Giving a eulogy to
my own request.
But even though cherubs grace my
thoughts, divine interpretation
of an ending as this quill of white,
gracing every imprint..
Perfection is blotted, the lines will
never grace this reflection again.
An orchestra of hand gestures play,
as if I see ever instrument grace
the air in synchronized perfection.
I realise that I may not be a pauper,
or one of riches and fame..
But I have a feeling that I'll live on
within the lines of my creations.
A eulogy of my sound vibrating though
the halls of time, my eulogy is
the sound I left behind never words.
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 5:16 PM UTC
he was always told not to be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf;
the big bad wolf and his big bad claws and his big bad fangs and the wicked way his eyes would gleam r e d in the dark.
*do not be afraid,
liebling*, his mother would say,
brushing his hair from his forehead before kissing him goodnight.
he would curl under the covers,
curl in,
curl in,
curl –
oh, no.
do not be afraid of the big bad wolf, he tells himself,
staring at his mother’s coffin as it is lowered slowly into the ground.
(it was not an open casket. could not be an open casket. her lip was split and swelling and the bruise over her eye was too dark to cover and his father’s knuckles are still red and raw to the touch.)
do not be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf,
but when his father lays a meaty hand on his shoulder and squeezes,
he shivers.
“i am not afraid of the big bad wolf,” he says into the mirror,
staring at his own split and swelling lip.
he meets felix and loves felix and does not bring felix home with him –
until the day that he does.
“he’s not the big bad wolf anymore,” felix says when he tells him what he’s done.
his clothes are rank with smoke and burning flesh,
and he remembers his mother, and the closed casket at her funeral.
“i know,” he says, straightening his tie.
(this casket is closed, too.)
there is no such thing as the big bad wolf,
not now, not today, not when the time for fairy tales has long since passed.
now, his hands itch for a gun,
now, his fingers itch to pull the trigger,
now, he is restless and he is ****** and he is a criminal.
(who’s the big bad wolf now?)
“my father was a monster. and so are you. and so am i.”
his funeral will be a closed casket, too. he smiles.
kala weeps.
he sticks the gun in his back pocket and thinks of his mother.
*do not be afraid,
liebling.*
i am not, he wants to tell her. i am not. not anymore.
(but still he sleeps with the gun beneath his pillow still he dreams of retribution from hands dripping with blood still he wakes and forgets that he is safe still he breathes and is afraid, deep down, is afraid of the wolf he has become.)
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
Language, anguish
Wrapped myself in blankets
Thinkin' about girls that consider me strange-ish
Well who really cares
Givin' off looks, and creepy stares
Stalkin' and talkin'
Chills and sidewalk chalkin'
Layin' in bed with you
Makin' plans we'll never do
Pretty girl, anywhere, I'll take you to
Just wanna kiss,
And kick it too
Sleeping tonight, feels so wrong
Alone, tonight, feels so long
But you call, talkin' *****
We up till seven-thirty
You know I'm right here
Let me whisper in your ear
Let's fu- I mean make love
And then maybe, if push comes to shove
I'll let you act just like a white dove
Scheming, dreaming, it's all seeming
A little hot, but not shot
All my plans and secrets too
Cause when I'm in your bed
I'll stay lovin' you
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC