"bloodspatter" poems
You see, I know a girl
She's quite beautiful,
She's very funny.
She loves everyone
And has no mistakes to be made.
But my mind,
A desolate, dark plane
Has taken this joyful girl
And twisted her so.
She became a darkness to me,
My mind hated the fact that she made me feel joy.
A brutal pit I threw her into;
Each time I close my eyes
She dies
over...
and over...
and over...
By my hands
An endless bloodspatter,
A Hell with no escape.
I want to **** her so bad
But why?
What leads me to feel this way?
Why has her image been so bent and misshapen?
It's as if I put her in a funhouse,
Amidst all the mirrors,
Twisting and turning her.
She is trapped inside my mind,
A place where she will die,
Brutally,
over...
and over...
and over...
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
I wonder if the big bang
was a response to god's loneliness
And maybe he sat alone for a long time
half braining ideas
about making things that
might love him
God never said
let there be light
he just put a gun in his mouth and splattered
stars across the wall of the universe
His black hole brain
something like regret
trying to **** all the stars back inside
And I think about the days you tried
But that's not like you kid
Even though you had blood
spilling out a hole in your gut
Bone white shallow breathed
There are still stains on the passenger seat of my car
Which I now call my living room
because I am homeless
And there are no walls that could hold the contents of your head
like jackson ******* bloodspatter
a pretentious painting titled
and homage to the ****** of failure
And you are not our mother
suicide cocktail
no ice
and you are not our father
an Alzheimer's ghost
Haunting a history
we never lived through
You are skinny like water
running down the zylephone of your ribcage
tinny laughter
Asking me questions like
if love is as powerful as they say it is in the movies
then why do people give up sometimes
I'll never give up I said
You asked me if I thought god was mad at you
the doctor chalked up you living
to just luck
and I think of when god made molds of men out of mud
and breathed into them
and the mud men lived
Mud must have felt lucky then
But for us its not luck
we make so much fuss
Just so the world knows
we're alive as ****
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC