"alerts" poems
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
*that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows the when and why of differing
cuddling styles...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows when to leave a man alone
alone in his man-mourning time,
distance needed,
letting his ex-rage dissipate or
watching his red and blue football
redefine ignominy...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when the man low whistles, eyes adrift,
she heartily agrees and is
reciprocity rewarded regularly
with hunk alerts of
"hey-check-him-out!"
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
a tigress in the bedroom
she asking, try this, I'll love it,
served with a desert demo of awkward afterward,
his less-than-perfect cuddling abilities
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who doesn't abhor partner silences,
comforting they are, in their own ways,
lying side by side, interrupted only by peccadillo body noises unexpected and
sheepish apologies and loving arm stroking
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who lets the man roar, top of voice,
when imprisoned in car,
his voice, un enfant terrible,
performs with Creedence Clearwater
a sing-a-long in traffic, asking
"Have you ever seen the rain"
while amidst Israel-leaving-Egypt
Sunday beach traffic on the L.I.E.
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
when it's pheromones alternative mode day,
he celebrates Carole King day,
she demonstrates her cuddling abilities,
par excellence, with kisses and tissues
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
a woman, plain confident in her abilities
no matter the situational status,
when confronted by
less-than-crazy-impetuous,
she smiling says "why not,"
when he proposes,
a movie and dinner in a fav haunt?
"plenty excellent enough" her answer,
spoke in a rising voice
full of unfeigned delight
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
accepting the unexpected airport embrace
on a moving sidewalk, unexpected delays
with the aplomb of a well lived life's
long term sustainability perspective
when he kisses her hand for no reason,
while driving 75 miles per hour,
she only winces internally,
the other hand vise-grasping
the other door's handle,
who brushes hair wisps in a dark movie,
celebrating her Bathsheba Everdeen's
duality of strength and tenderness
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when on second date he proposes
a non-exclusive relationship,
confident enough to high-five respond,
and laugh about it,
seven years on
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when she reads it,
analyzing the oeuvre as
"too **** personal and
as usual
too **** long"*
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her
cuddling abilities
in everything...
even a little occasional criticism
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
Sexually assaulting a woman at a burger king who moves like a crack addict, only in a subtle way. Leading me to believe she's a ********** I press my ***** against her hand on the register counter. She alerts the people here. They call the cops. Everybody I know finds out. *** deprivation... **** culture...
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:34 AM UTC
Bombers & bloggers
Tragedy is triumphant
Traffic gathers in a tweaked intersection divide
Wreaking of those fuming with exhaustion
Speed, cause you prefer the highway
Political in place of partial
The news carries dismay
Where is such trouble in this world you say?
Posing proposing, regulating;
Marijuana laws are changing
Complaining of taxing & weighing
Football, do you recalls, & puppy dogs,
Amber alerts & nostalgia where it hurts
Once again the news contright
Cut short cause it draaaags
Ruthless the truth is;
Everywhere you go, there the news is
You can't lose it, tied around your neck the noose is
Bed bugs It has;
Talking of spread shoots, ***** mags
This celebrity, the new 'fad', & that old hag
Throw up on the rag;
Forget it
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
are you generally happy?
a semi-innocuous query
now actualized as a two sided bladed poker,
hot stabbing me smack dab in
the chests hollow crown bullseye,
continuously, as in all life long, and eternal longing for a
“yes”
it fits inside a pubescent aged wound that
refreshes with every breath;
a life long struggle for an accurate definition,
be a general of genuine happy,
that alone would deliver, bringing on bright day satisfaction
as a human, one operates on parallel continuums;
slide slipping on well oiled poles that over the years,
their lengths, increasing with add-on extender poles
formed by
twisty turny slips and falls of sundered hearts and sad loves,
marriages nicknamed Titanic, children found and lost,
complications responsibilities that are denied meeting the words
“The End”
a life that many would envy, questioning what’s wrong
with you dude, are you blinded to the riches yours,
reality is
shoulders permanently bent, a spine that’s held together by
spit and solder and curved by wearying wearing longing for
a straightness that is also called crooked unobtainable
and a piece of a peace that comes and goes
like a highway billboard that you pass too fast to be fully read
the body is corroding and worser yet to come and that’s a hand
you selected - luck of the self-selecting-drawing -
the opioids of the mind offers are rejected
the clarity of painful self exploration valued overall -
the place where the poems come from,
and go to die,
a landscape of a scene repeatedly visualized
but never been and never left,
the crazy contradictions come in two flavors;
vanilla smiles and chocolate weeping of tears that have
etched pathways cheek-chiseled
the city is a struggling strife for most,
the next red line on the side
of the measuring cup and
everyone has a cell, a credit card,
and a measuring cup
<•>
here I stop can’t finish
someone missing alerts me
to their real worlds troubles
making my complaints super superficial but
the silent running of the stilleto
cuts shallow
repeated hourly
the cut color,
pitch black
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
I have seen couples,
So far from each—
Other, on a platform,
Waiting for the next train,
Never touching, yet how
They ****** their mobile
Devices, how softly, sweet,
Without guile nor agenda
They swipe the glass—
As it swoons back in return
With blue lights and alerts,
So dearly needed and answers,
In way words for the machines
Of flesh and the ghost within,
With such personal aplomb
In real notifications of text
And instant message.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
In Battalion,
Misery is served in a thousand ways.
Misery is served in buckets of rain
and hours of wind.
Unyielding, soul-sucking cold and wet.
Porous jungle boots that invite the frigid water in and soften your feet for a relentless 30 mile march.
Misery is served in a stifling aircraft flying Nap of the Earth.
A nauseating rollercoaster ride that never fails to elicit
chain reaction vomiting from the paratroopers rigged to jump.
Misery is served at pool PT
When your arms and legs feel like lead
and drowning is a better alternative
than the aquatic torture that you’re enduring.
Misery is served during blistering Company runs
led by the Commander
who was a college decathlete.
Runs where the strongest of us
pulled aside, emptied our stomachs,
and rejoined the formation.
Misery is served by no warning alerts
separating families and lovers
for indefinite periods,
sometimes forever.
Misery is served by the Spec 4 Mafia
Unleashing Hell on new Rangers
testing their threshold for ****
Misery is served by road marches, prickly heat,
Black Palm, and sawgrass. It’s served by desert heat,
Arctic cold, and the stench of the world’s worst places.
Misery is served by the loss of brothers in war and training,
gone too soon to join the Great Ranger in the Sky.
Through it all, misery hardened my body and strengthened my soul.
It made me a warrior and ushered me into a Brotherhood that will be with me until we all sit at the great table in Valhalla.
So on this Veteran’s Day
Embrace the ****
Endure the pain
Invite the Misery
For that’s what makes us
Men amongst Men
Rangers Lead The Way.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
My Country 'tis of thee
A footnote in history
Of thee I sing
I will dare to compare
for those who were not there
I will try to be fair
Of thee I sing....
My Country was very proud
My Country is full of PRIDE (Insert your rainbow flag here)
My Country was safe at night, you could leave the doors open
My Country is scarier, you don't feel safe until the deadbolts are locked and window bars are in place.
My Country was a place where you knew you could get a housecall from a doctor if needed.
My Country is a place where patients die waiting for a doctor, in the hallway no less.
My Country was amber fields of grain
My Country is Amber alerts and looking for missing children in Amber fields of grain
My Country was the CBC
My Country is satellite television with 400 channels and nothing to watch.
My Country was a place where our flag was respected world wide
My Country is a place where we are respected still....as long as it involves a puck.
My Country was leading the way into the future
My Country is always looking over it's shoulder to see what's coming
My Country was a great place to vacation with the family
My Country is The Untited States for at least 3 weeks annualy, because it's cheaper there.
My Country was strong and a world leader in science and technology
My Country is on life support.
My Country was my families first choice of a place to live
My Country is still my families first choice of a place to live...barely
My Country 'tis of thee
A footnote in history
Of Thee I sing
I hope you get the gist
There's not much I have missed
I loved, but now I'm ******
Of Thee I sing.....
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 7:26 PM UTC
--Hand serenity manually entered
The automatic response system
Alerts red light blind blinking
Her excited isotopes fly, entropy askew
The 'A' stands for ready, willing and Able-bodied
Feather boa leather boy and scarlet adultery
Tucked neatly in the back of her dresser
Under bloomers and pictures of young baby boomers
--A civil masterpiece--
"I would love to," she says with a careless car crash
And a shaking ****** serial slave smile
Blowtorch full of propane and limp-action lidocaine
She cuts chronic through a slice of Hollywood layer cake
--Serves it skintight
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 6:57 PM UTC
I swim in a sea of ice
Below frozen waves
Bitter currents entice
Darkness saves
Where silence reigns
Below the surface
Swept up in chains
Light alerts us
To Freedoms cry
It seeks to stray
Into our lonely minds
We fade away
Out of sight
Out of mind
Fading Light
A dying kind
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
Rapid Eye Movements
cruise down the Autobahn,
driving dreams of soldiers
slaying the Beast in the East:
seeds hidden in the cuff links
that return home for the victory parade.
The victory parade of the new millennium
is a mirage: desert sand creeps
through the streets of Basra;
spray painted slogans of “Aryan Nation”
are left behind on pock-marked walls.
High level terror alerts
scroll across the Fear o' Dome,
breeding paranoid glances
from commercial-class passengers
while they fly above fenced camps
where centralized secret service agents
watch the unloading of another train.
"Son, do you forget the sacrifices?
Have you lost all your respect?
Okay, it’s possible that the Feds
were influenced by the Purebreds—
a minor repercussion
of maintaining our national security.
It isn’t even about racial purity—
you are all mixed now, anyway.
Whether female, black, jew, or gay,
we must unite together as a nation;
raise its flag with pride,
and fight against a common enemy!
This enemy is trying to disintegrate
the cornerstone of our free society!
Son, can you not see! Not see-notsee-notsea-notsi-notzi-natzi-nazi-natzi-notzi-notsi-notsea-notsee-not see!"
_____
—cold sweat.
I awaken to remnants of nightmarish images
sifting through my mind:
flocks of carnivorous sheep
with invisible shepherds.
The dream had felt real—
solid, like flesh-out reality.
I rush out of bed,
just to make sure.
From my bedroom window,
I see the neighbour’s Iron Eagle weathervane
goose-stepping towards the west.
A lawnmower growls in the background.
Everything appears normal here
on the corner of 4th Reichstag Blvd.
2016 Neu Berlin Remix, July 13th, 2016
(original version was written on March 29th, 2010)
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 6:14 PM UTC
.
•••••••••••••
•••••••••••••••••••••••
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
communicate•such are her methods to make us see•
she tries to the mother we've abused to such
the way a state•the earth we've squand-
it is ered so very blindly•but we do
• not change our ways • instead
we devise our feeble solutions•
bunkers and alerts, in place we
lay•hoping these would halt her
spiteful vengeance•the past has sha-
red of what transpired before•our days carry
on without words of thanks•we could never learn
of what's in store•what ripple could grow to consume
our banks•
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
For the first time ever; I truly do not care
if you, him, or her wished me a happy birthday;
But, I wouldn’t mind if you did. Though it is fair;
I am one of the lesser friends; I am a boring play;
A play so fake; I am of made up characters,
Sometimes I am the flattering villain in smiles,
And at times I am a copy of the Westerners,
At others, I am gullible, yet I never am;
I pretend to be; but I am miles away,
For interesting I am not; so funny at least be,
Says my brain; for maybe they will remember,
That my birthday was today; It is an endless plea:
I always remember and prepare pages of wishes,
For almost everyone, but all I get is 4 days late
One liners sent out of guilt; to stop the guilty itches,
Not out of care, love, or from genuine friendly state;
I deserve it; for again; I am merely a boring play;
A paradoxical headache of weird introverts,
And annoying extroverts; I barely even weigh,
To a normal person; I am made of endless alerts;
Alerted, focused, attentive; all on your acceptance;
I am what I feel you want me to be; a nice man,
A racist gangster, a diplomatic figure; I am resemblance,
I resemble everything I see in you and scan;
I am stardust that was never meant to shine,
I am a thread; intertwined as I feel pleases,
I am a road with temporary signs; I am grapes;
For you I squeeze myself into juice; or ferment
Into wine; I am a fake play where you write scripts,
I submit, because all I cared about is receiving,
A birthday wish. On that one day in the entire year;
I do not want even want gifts; because when you don't,
I feel like I am ceasing to exist; slowly deceasing
from everything that we were: teenagers ambitious,
WhatsApp stickers collectors, School runaways,
Kids deceiving; it feels like I am dead; for the dead
Do not receive birthday wishes; I feel peerless;
A white beans *** lidless, a body complete limbless,
A walking sickness, a moving flesh in stillness,
unpardoned by my faux and obvious silliness.
I do not care about not getting birthday wishes;
But I cannot not overthink what it means.
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 4:25 PM UTC
My darling dear I love you
oh honey I've got it bad
but no more maybe baby
cuz I know that makes you mad
let's sit upon the sofa seat
I have something to say
I bought some bread
a loaf of wheat
that expired yesterday
and it makes me feel so needed
when you tell me what to do
your instructions have been heeded
please don't scream luv, I hear you
doll, your bossiness endears me
and your rudeness I deserve
and I love the way
you squint and say
what you looking at you perv
dearest pumpkin, let me say this
from the moment that we met
I have hungered for our first kiss
have you decided on that yet?
cuz your perfume wakes my senses
it alerts me that your near
sweets, I have no more defenses
just my quick reflexive fear!
©2012 Lyn
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
(Monsoon Moments 3)
The Chart is speaking to me
telling me......time has spilled over,
and, shaded most parts of the pie;
the space beyond the three quarters,
is what catches my eyes.........the pie,
looks like a clock, with only a quarter left,
its hands, hurriedly ticking......emphasizing
making it clearer......there is no turning back;
my to-do list alerts me
got to spend my hours...days,
all the more wiser now,
before the last piece of my pie,
before the last slice of my life,
gets consumed...........and, finally,
be...shaded....completely,
..........by.....time........
Sally
Copyright June 14, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
ALERTS TO FINANCIAL AND MILITARY THREATS IN 2012 EUROPE
By John Cleese (British writer, actor and tall person):
The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent events in Syria
and have therefore raised their security level from "Miffed" to
"Peeved." Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to
"Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." The English have not
been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran
out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to "A ******
Nuisance." The last time the British issued a ****** Nuisance" warning
level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.
The Scots have raised their threat level from ****** Off" to "Let's get
the ******** They don't have any other levels. This is the reason they
have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.
The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror
alert level from "Run" to "Hide." The only two higher levels in France
are "Collaborate" and "Surrender." The rise was precipitated by a recent
fire that destroyed France 's white flag factory, effectively paralyzing
the country's military capability.
Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly"
to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain: "Ineffective
Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."
The Germans have increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance"
to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher
levels: "Invade a Neighbor" and "Lose."
Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual; the only threat
they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.
The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy.
These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish
navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.
Australia , meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to
"She'll be alright, Mate." Two more escalation levels remain: ****** I
think we'll need to cancel the barbie this weekend!" and "The barbie is
cancelled." So far no situation has ever
warranted use of the last final escalation level.
A final thought -" Greece is collapsing, the Iranians are getting
aggressive, and Rome is in disarray. Welcome back to 430 BC."
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
How much do we have to take before we can go without, how long before the draught? death by entertainment, it seemed so glamorous how could one go without?
I knew better to begin with, now its time to have faith in my oneness. opening a new chapter to a story that has no end, doing away with infinite incarnations perpetuated by masochistic sin. Death to the creator, the created, the masturbated, incubated, presipitated falsehoods of pajentry. Death to all the silly megabytes of pompous epiphany. Death to the beast that thrived off of insecurity. Death to all that which is no longer me.
Unsimulated, unappropraited energy that is free to be anything but alerts on a screen. False flags of fullfillment waving endlessly with self pity. Perfectly punctuated cries for help and lol's that reeked of nothing but "I hate myself."
Cut the net, it's a trap for something fluid with that which doesn't connect. Don't bother looking here for love, it is already in all that doesn't limit itself.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 5:56 AM UTC
a message sent to me:
“I know you, Marrano, secret Jew of my heart, weakened by words and strengthened thereby...stout man of words”^
a stranger invasion - his technology, a new combine of words,
percentage of perception high, a ferreting scraping of tissue,
an abrasion of spoiler alerts that are not hidden but now summoned, despite being unbidden early on a Sabbath morn
and at this, my haunted hours, this secret Jew,
wanders unexplored yet familiar routes
of his well traveled innards,
pondering this sweet Shylock Accusation, nay,
this confessional truth, but more, the nut of his essence that ‘tis
his conviction, his twisted sentencing, the exact lived-level of
a hellish Dante verse that shreds the escape of sleep,
that is home
“weakened by words and strengthened thereby”
words forced to the fore, peremptorily summoned,
this inconsistency so constant, his battle,
where neither victory, loss or truce, are resolutions legitimate,
contradictory poems are the tension production
of this high wire act of the man, a performance
best assessed as one of always slipping,
more near-falling failing than cross walking,
employing his word emissions as a balancing pole,
and balancing is a sometime thing
I am not an illusionist - if anything, a disillusionist
there are stanzas writ
but unspoken
that shall not be out-spit
here or now; for lengthy answers already exist,
in a thousand prior scripts
and
the thin wire of preservation
teaches the value of brevity
stout, I think not,
man of words,
no doubt,
one who is both,
a secret Marrano and a Jew, fully exposed,
and one who is
“weakened by words and strengthened thereby”
12/2/17 The Sabbath 3:33am
<•>
extra credit reading
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/529429/the-true-tale-of-shylocks-pound/
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 1:43 PM UTC
*We live now
In visual times
Our helpers are
Those graphic aids:
Top to bottom
Right to left
In to out..
Part in whole
Whole in part
Holograph assists
Wholeness found..
Symmetry here
Alerts to show
Symmetry there..
These and more
Simple translations
Inner Eye wakens..
So that now
Deception removed
Our world renews
Its hidden beauty
Dis-clothed…*
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
I am a dreamer
my mind is always dreaming
silence please
as the imagry flows over me, an artist at work
a spiritual master
dreams keep me strong
I am strong so long as I'm able to dream
it makes me weak in the heart
keeps me from folding apart
Dreaming is my ave. Maria
she is always with me, in my heart
dreaming is my messiah
dreaming is my salvation
it leads me where to go
helps me to recognize and to know
it is the breeze that brings me upon the desires and wishes of my heart
containign all that I know
a message I like to impart
it preaches on where forth, I should go
Dreaming is the ideal
it is the amniotic fluid
Dreaming alerts me to the presence of the creator
as they are present in myself
dreaming as would a child
helps me hold onto my light
dreaming as would a lover
enderaing and selfless at first sight
dreaming as does a mother
with endless love and all that is good and right
dreaming as would a spiritual leader
with pure divine insight, from which my actions recite
dreaming protects me from worry and woes
but it gives me an empathetic soul
The power of go
dreaming, causes illusion, to stille my saddness
give meaning and worth to the poor
helps my mindful intentions to soar
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
Hello Facebook my old friend.
I'm reading posts on you again.
Up at 2:30 in the morning
Checking likes and shares and replying.
Read alerts beneath the ringing bell.
What the hell, am I doing on Facebook?
As through the posts I quickly scroll.
Seeing kittens, dogs and trolls.
Trying not to click on the ad spam.
Found a recipe for a baked ham.
And a private message from a long lost friend.
But I know not when.
I added this person, on Facebook.
10,000 clicks and maybe more.
My index finger's mighty sore.
All the smileys, likes and emojis.
Likes on my posts giving me jollies.
Requests from people that I do not even know.
My friends list grows.
To thousands of people, on Facebook.
"Will this nightmare ever end?"
I ask as I add a friend.
But all the games and all the puzzles.
Popping balloons and bursting bubbles.
I have got to try to get a better score.
It's such a chore.
Playing the games, on Facebook.
Suddenly one day I learned.
Zuckerberg on me had turned.
Selling all my saved information.
To companies in all lands and nations.
Making a profit off me like I was his ***
I did not know.
Violated, by Facebook
But I did not stay mad long.
Even though it was so wrong.
I have to see how many likes I had.
I want to know this stuff awfully bad.
And now the data selling's out of mind.
And thus I find.
Myself again, on Facebook.
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 5:23 AM UTC
I.
Physics has told me that we are in flux.
But where is the phi, without I?
Calculus has told me that we are asymptotic.
But where is the limit, if I can't be in it?
English has told me that we are star-crossed.
But where is the light, if I am not right?
Chemistry has told me that we are entropic forces.
But where is concord, if I am ignored?
II.
You think you're such a *****
But can't you see that I want your disease?
You think you are worth nothing,
But can't you see that you're invaluable to me?
You think you are alone,
But can't you see that you and I have to be?
III.
On and off, like a light switch.
But still you have me wrapped,
right around your slender finger.
I slipped into euphoria, once upon
that lovely night, when we had
finally tasted what we were missing.
The ruddiness of your lips and
the tangled golden mess that you
call your hair sizzle quietly in
my mind. I have not forgotten.
Nor do I want to. I cannot be sated
by another. But you find it so easy
to eat the hearts of the already ******
You spared mine, though. I wonder
why. Each hiccup in my chest alerts
me to the monster that rages within.
It wants you. It still wants you.
Eat it, if you must. I offer it freely.
Upon a silver platter.
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
I don't understand
Lost in what you're saying to me
Overcome by the whole idea of us walking hand in hand
Vow to forever be faithful to you
Enthralled by your smirk or grin
Your that girl who knows me only skin deep
Opening up to you like a blooming rose
Unloved or noticed by the Cinderella of my kingdom
Not giving up
At night, I reach my hand out towards you even though you aren't there
Tough to think that it's never going to happen
All I have eyes for is you
Lying alone in a cold, empty room
I wonder if I'm insane most hours of the day
Each day that passes before me, alerts me of the real world
Because I don't have you
To be my little firefly
Or my crucial hand rail
Instead, I've been abandoned to early
To stumble in the dark
And walk like a blind man
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
The slow trickle behind my bedroom wall,
alerts me to a subtle call.
"Help...help... save me from this cell."
But I cannot risk my sanity o'er my mind's concocted hell.
"Please... please... I miss life all too well."
Says I, "Do not stir me demon, my soul is not to sell."
I wrap the sheets around my ears and focus hard to sleep,
But a rest was not deserved for the demon craved to leap.
"I smell blood! I smell blood!
Like the sweetest rose-bud!"
Says I, "I smell nothing fiend!
You are only dreamed!
No reality in this is seen."
A chortle laugh is known just then while my walls begin to creak.
A drop of blood falls on my chest and grants a chilling shriek.
"Is it too late for reality to change its mind and let me die?"
The crimson stain upon my ceiling has deemed my end is nigh.
"Do you hear me? Do you hear me? Are you yet so vain?"
Says I, "I am not! I am not! Do cause me no more pain!"
A sharp crack of thunderous tempered toil rips a chasm through my soul.
The trickle, trickle, trickle, to sleep will never lull.
"Do you hear it? Do you see it? Do you envy all the dead?"
"I smell blood! I smell blood! But out gushes YOUR blood instead!"
And then a scream of biting hatred breaks the silence through.
The stain pours blood upon my room while tempest's force ensues.
The dead retreat,
Unto their sleep,
Now my only friend is you.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
The Judge, me, walks in, settles down on the bench,
a cue for the jury, me, the accused, me,
and the defendant, you, to sit down.
It's a special kind of case at the Court of Conscience today.
No representation. No witnesses. No audience. Just
the parties affected and those who arbitrate. You and me.
Crime, Falling Out of Love! Walking away, leading you on,
not giving us a second chance, wasting your time, taking you
for granted and ripping your soul apart.
The accused, Pleads Guilty. As the law requires to discount
a third of the maximum sentence, the judge and the jury,
decide that the court will recess for three days.
I'm on bail but I cannot come within eye contact of you.
My guilty heart is tagged so each time I feel your pain,
sadness or anger, it alerts my brain and shocks it!
The court convenes. The judge clears her throat.
Because she's too emotional, along with the jury,
to even talk, let alone think clearly or decide.
"We find the defendant Guilty!". Guilty of
involuntarily man-slaughtering this relationship.
I sigh! Justice does not mean fair, not in law nor life.
The judge goes on. "However in this particular case
the sentence is to be decided by the defendant."
Because the ball is in fact in Your court!
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 6:36 PM UTC