"cackles" poems
You're my storm cloud disguised as sunshine
but your masquerade never stops the rain.
Laughs like lightning flashing across your face
sharp and dangerous, followed by the thunder of
my ignorance, cluing you in on how far your lies
stretch into my desperation to be wanted.
Lightning.
Thunder.
Oh I never thought
I was that funny
Your electric strings
Pull the punch lines out of my mouth.
Thunder.
The lightning's best friend.
Thunder.
You must really like me
You must have told your friends about me too.
Because that cackles coming out of their
throats when I tell a joke sound just like
the storm, the zigzags of fire that tear through the clouds.
telling me how funny I am, how much they love having me around.
How you need me.
Time for my response… its my job right?
Thunder.
Thunder.
Why is it now that the way you curl your lips
when I make my jokes
looking
less
and less
like a smile?
Your friends know that shape
and they know how to make their lips look the same way.
Is it some contagious thing that they all have, and disease
passed around the room every time that lightning escapes.
But they all think I am funny
It must just be a friend thing…
I should learn how to do it too.
Thunder.
Thunder.
Streaming pixels
Blurry faces of “friends”
it must have been a mistake
The love me
next time,
I’ll make sure to clear it up with them
why wouldn't they want me to attend?
Thunder.
Thunder.
Glances like knives
Darting through the air like flies
and infestation of insects that
carry messages that
I don’t understand.
But they do.
Like a major league team
catch after catch
never missing those eyes that
seem a little bit darker
and a little bit colder.
Passing the ball around the bases
returning the favor.
Why can’t I grip ball that seems to bind
them all together
leaving trails of
text messages
and parties
that I was not invited to
this ball that seems to always
keep me on the outfield.
And how come everytime that ball goes
around
and
around….
its feels like
a punch to the stomach
never ceasing to knock me
down
and
leave me
breathless.
This must be what friendship feels like…
Thunder.
Is it?
because I look around
these hallways
where I always walk to fast
trying to keep up
yet I am always
one
step
behind.
I see that
these other girls
walk in straight lines
arms joined so that no one
falls
too
far behind
yet I’m always walking in
dizzy circles
wondering when they will
turn around to see if I am
still following,
still standing,
still funny.
Thunder, the lightning's best friend…
but that is never who I was to you.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
I am not the master of my writing
-
my writing masters me,
seizing me when the seizure is a sure thing,
it dictates to its enslaved scribe
what it desires this utensil to reveal and expel -
the contraries
who having battled to a ****** draw leaves the battlefield trembling with indecent indecision; the optimal conditions for its macrobiotic invasion of my brain stem;
the she-muse offers me two choices:
she wants a poem writ forthwith
on the lyrical expression
of depression and refusal is
non optional
so I fantasize escape and that becomes
her property as well;
evidence against me to be used at my trials,
the one where there is no statue of liberty
from the limitations of prior bad acts;
I offer the she-muse two choices:
give me a cabin with WiFi
and self-enforcement of solitary confinement and
tie me up with the rope remainders of broken bonds,
bonds that tied me up worse
when they were broken
and the peaceful withering
that won’t disrupt disturb nobody
from a distance
my other choice is to bury me
forthwith next to my parents
and shutter my constant tearing eyes which are drop-resistant
muse says that’s no choice
I own your voice stilled or not,
will bill your soul’s account for
denial of poetic services
weep; i don’t want the noises that curse this troubled
bodyship don’t want recollections good or bad
the muse-bitch cackles with insanity of delight
for she accepts this writ as partial payment
on her commission, whispers I love your
lyrical expressions of depression
that ****** recognition algorithms
alert me that seizing time is nigh
there is no on/off switch for one like you:
father son and holy ghost
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
As much as my body screams to be touched I won't let you
As much as I long to be held in your arms while the fire cackles it won't happen too
My desires has brought me so much pain I forgot what it was I felt in the first place
And finally it seems I've been able to control my emotional pace
It's my body, so why should it lead me on and ditch all sane thoughts
I really want that kiss but if I got it I'll be tempted for more
I'm afraid of myself, of what this one touch would do to me
It'll happen eventually and would come with waves of emotion
But when it does, I want it to be free of future regrets and depression
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
10 Haiku of Raven
1
black God
Huge cumulus clouds,
Exploding into the blue,
. . . Shadowed by raven.
2
valley morn
Dark hands working fields,
Raven tracing mountain crests,
. . . Carnal tillers wake.
3
Raven spell
Dark sound raven makes,
Chortles top fir tree, haunting—
. . . Druids incantation.
4
unfaithful
Snow covers valley—
Solitary raven staining world,
. . . Love has turned black.
5
outcast
Many years alone,
Suddenly— old thoughts of her,
. . . Lone raven in sky.
6
mischief
Lone raven cackles . . .
Clouds splinter across the sky,
. . . Mist cuts down the woods.
7
marked
Full moon crowns tall pine,
Raven landing in cross hairs,
. . . Dark angels halo.
8
Loki
Raven knows a charm,
A child's costume jewelry,
. . . Colours a black eye.
9
tall tale
Zenith of winter—
Lone raven in naked tree,
. . . Spring only legend.
10
dark angel
In his feathered dress . . .
Raven shrouds beneath the clouds,
. . . Even eyes are black.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
I shall never get you put together entirely,
Pieced, glued, and properly jointed.
Mule-bray, pig-grunt and ***** cackles
Proceed from your great lips.
It's worse than a barnyard.
Perhaps you consider yourself an oracle,
Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other.
Thirty years now I have labored
To dredge the silt from your throat.
I am none the wiser.
Scaling little ladders with glue pots and pails of Lysol
I crawl like an ant in mourning
Over the weedy acres of your brow
To mend the immense skull-plates and clear
The bald, white tumuli of your eyes.
A blue sky out of the Oresteia
Arches above us. O father, all by yourself
You are pithy and historical as the Roman Forum.
I open my lunch on a hill of black cypress.
Your fluted bones and acanthine hair are littered
In their old anarchy to the horizon-line.
It would take more than a lightning-stroke
To create such a ruin.
Nights, I squat in the cornucopia
Of your left ear, out of the wind,
Counting the red stars and those of plum-color.
The sun rises under the pillar of your tongue.
My hours are married to shadow.
No longer do I listen for the scrape of a keel
On the blank stones of the landing.
4.5k
Slimy sea feet.
Sandy salt tongues.
Gabby gulls and cautious *****
Boardwalk smiles and sticky ice cream fingers.
Ripened hearts and eager tide eyes.
Tears in my ears from the satisfied sun seeking silence.
This is where I belong.
This is where I know God.
I don’t belong in a town that can offer me nothing.
I don’t belong in a massive city that’ll swallow me up.
I don’t belong at silly soirees or late night parties.
I don’t belong at the top tier or down with the underdogs.
I belong on the shores.
I belong arm in arm with my confidantes, walking through downtown streets of some sweet town.
I belong hand in hand with my true companion with our toes in the sand.
I belong sipping soda with my sisters giggling endlessly as we watch some cheesy chick flick.
I belong hugging my mama who I will never stop loving for an instant.
I belong sitting with my father drinking tea in the purest, sweetest silence, for that is how we were made to be.
I belong listening to my dad’s tall tales and my mothers soothing words.
I belong holding my stomach with my face streaked with tear drops from some joke that is only funny if you were there.
I belong forever in the future with that one, the one whom was made for me; the Tilney to my Catherine.
I belong holding the gazes of my friends as we try to hold back our cackles, tears, and even our own words.
I belong in the waves of the sea.
I only belong in the happiest of salty tears.
I can’t belong where I’m too afraid to face my fears.
I won’t belong in broken gears.
I’ll not for a moment belong in heartbroken wares.
I’ve never belonged in them, but they live inside me.
They have and always will be
My demons and my skeletons
Yet you will always see them on my sleeves
So everyone can see they do not devour me.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
Weighing in on this pain and pressure,
Want to wake up feeling fresher,
Hurts to see nothing working,
Hearing cackles and smirking,
While my eyes are wide open,
Can't sleep till day light,
Feel the hot rays in strands quite bright,
Lost my mind,
Love to wake up my soul,
Faith is gone out the window,
Purpose is vanished,
Hope has faded,
Routine is as solid
As solid the economy,
Sleepless nights,
Heavy hearts,
Heavy chest,
All the worries and feeling depressed,
Listening slowly as the curtain,
Casts upon me,
The race of life has just begun,
and I'm waiting on starting line,
While they are all at the finish.
But I'm not giving up.
Oh no, Im not giving up
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
( Haiku )
1
black God
Huge cumulus clouds,
Exploding into the blue,
. . . Shadowed by raven
2
valley morn
Dark hands working fields,
Raven tracing mountain crests,
. . . Carnal tillers wake
3
Raven spell
Dark sound raven makes,
Chortles top fir tree, haunting—
. . . Druids incantation
4
unfaithful
Snow covers valley—
Solitary raven staining world,
. . . Love has turned black
5
outcast
Many years alone,
Suddenly— old thoughts of her,
. . . Lone raven in sky
6
mischief
Lone raven cackles . . .
Clouds splinter across the sky,
. . . Mist cuts down the woods
7
marked
Full moon crowns tall pine,
Raven landing in cross hairs,
. . . Dark angels halo
8
Loki
Raven knows a charm,
A child's costume jewelry,
. . . Colours a black eye
9
tall tale
Zenith of winter—
Lone raven in naked tree,
. . . Spring only legend
10
dark angel
In his feathered dress . . .
Raven shrouds beneath the clouds,
. . . Even eyes are black
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 2:48 PM UTC
bespeckled, blotched & blokey
feminine in aspects
only little ****** hair patches
two chins,
or rather a sloped one
the front evenly declining to the middle of the throat
a gradual slope from the tip, for juices to run if his manner and situation allowed him to be as casual and sloppy as his laziness chose,
torso without form, so there was no curvature on the buttocks or the fly region.
a mass
a blob of bulges on spindly legs
he leans on the wall
stubby in hand he balks
(he means jovial but unintentionally he vocalises mockery)
at the suggestion that the Pies will do better
& that Eddie is a clever man due for thanks, who has done his club well (apparently a straight Aussie arrow tried and true!)
the man ***** his head back & cackles
(the trebly popping bubbles of a gala crackle outwards as the man cackles)
& decides his arms need a rest,
(a long day of up and down they have had indeed, they deserve respect, or rest (or a benching))
so he places his beer down
on a sloped surface,
& therefore it slips down….
he sees it plummeting, he stretches toward it's tragic trajectory,
…..but he is too slow
it smashes
on his foot (the shards) the beer bottle it transfigures,
and the shards they impart their misery on his toes.
The shards they intrude on his relaxed state of wellbeing, they intrude on the security sanctioned within the casual footwear of a man at a barbecue; taking it easy.
he swears and hops, reaching in indignation for his bleeding toes
he holds the wound cursing; resisting the impulse to begin convulsive throws
(an oscar worthy performance from a usually suburbaly urbane individual)
the moisture feels degrading
(as it would within a man's pants)
the pain from the cuts it is worsened
by the smirking gazes of others about
he hobbles, disregarding his thong in the wreckage of the scene
off to retrieve a band aid
to mend his ego
and his foot
simultaneously
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
*( Haiku )
1
black God
Huge cumulus clouds,
Exploding into the blue,
. . . Shadowed by raven
2
valley morn
Dark hands working fields,
Raven tracing mountain crests,
. . . Carnal tillers wake
3
Raven spell
Dark sound raven makes,
Chortles top fir tree, haunting—
. . . Druids incantation
4
unfaithful
Snow covers valley—
Solitary raven staining world,
. . . Love has turned black
5
outcast
Many years alone,
Suddenly— old thoughts of her,
. . . Lone raven in sky
6
mischief
Lone raven cackles . . .
Clouds splinter across the sky,
. . . Mist cuts down the woods
7
marked
Full moon crowns tall pine,
Raven landing in cross hairs,
. . . Dark angels halo
8
Loki
Raven knows a charm,
A child's costume jewelry,
. . . Colours a black eye
9
tall tale
Zenith of winter—
Lone raven in naked tree,
. . . Spring only legend
10
dark angel
In his feathered dress . . .
Raven shrouds beneath the clouds,
. . . Even eyes are black*
.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 5:16 PM UTC
I'm paying
for the careless laughs
I cast
at my poor mother in the past
when she would cringe
and turn away
as we sought edges
to enhance our play.
High trees and rooftops
cliffside walks -
whatever would extend the view
beyond the grim grey
granite grip we knew.
The humour lay
in knowing we were safe,
that these short frissons
were a break
between long stretches
of mundane and easy comfort,
free from pain.
Perhaps, we thought,
it does her good to gasp and shudder,
shout and blame -
she knows
that nothing's gained by shouting "Not too close!"
That just extends the game.
And then we're home
and she, once more, is sane.
That un-won wisdom
taunts me now.
The thought that fear was rare, somehow
that each new feat
of daring was a treat
the spice and colour
in a mother's life
which otherwise was dull.
Then, suddenly, my children,
you appear
and now I fear
that everything's
a crumbling clifftop
a wind-bent,
beetle-brittle branch
that you are twisted
in the fickle hands of chance
Your precious whims
your pale, glass-fragile skins
are buffeted by everything.
All ice is thin -
the wolves are real
it was not just the wind.
And even here
upon the edge of morning
misfired wires
inside your precious head
could make a storm-tossed life-raft
of your cozy bed
I stand beside you, out of reach
though long prepared
to meet the reason I am scared.
You curl and shrink
turn glassy eyes towards the wall
while I await the blow
that, thank God, doesn't fall,
this time
my youthful self
has found a cliff to climb
above a rocky beach
and cackles
at his mother's panicked call.
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 4:05 PM UTC
Beneath the bends of Barrymore
On the southwest winds she chants some more
The clouds scoot by beneath the moon
Some say she's crazy like the loon
Dressed in black she cackles back
Tossing ashes from a sack
She throws her body down
And moans and sobs into the ground
A dagger she does draw it forth
Holding it up for all its worth
She shrieks and damns her birth
And plunges it deep into her heart . . .
So ends the life of the despised young **** . . .
Now the owls come silently in
Alighting next to still warm skin
All walk around the disposed young beast
Only uttering "Who" to say the least
Then the great owl comes fluttering in
He'd be a giant if he were made of men
He collectively surveys the scene
Takes a few steps before he says a thing
"Take her body to Evermoor"
The great one orders and implores
And all the owls take to wing
Holding the remains of the breathless thing
And take her earthly shell away
And as drops of blood fell from the flow
to the earth a white rose would grow
Leaving a trail
To the land as some will say
To the sacred woods of Evermoor
Yes sacredness in evermore
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
He loves her,
She loves him too,
One day will come,
When they marry,
Have two kids,
Bring them up,
See their children getting married to their respective partners,
Hear and see their grandchildren's sweet cackles,
And then He & She both die together,
Peacefully.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
I'd been trying to write a poem
Just one ******* poem
But he said
*Just **** around*
Swallow down a bowl full of squares
Let’s play games with each other’s minds
Spend a night lost in a house of cards
Where the joker cackles despite your begging
A reminder of what I could do without
Shouting at the world from the white pavilion
You suckers!
With your skirts hitched up and tongues hanging out
Gagging on a lover’s loneliness
All I see is your undergarments crying for attention
With a liquor solace barely down your throat
Eighteen silver blades
Smile at me with their perfect teeth
One to mark each year that past
A nineteenth will not be necessary
Ready to drag
Like the man trailing his head on a string
Across the surgeon’s winking knife
Tapping their toes on the bathroom counter
Anxious to mingle with my flesh
I’ve already scrubbed in
The survival rate looks dismal
The cotton reel loosens and my halo slips
Down - the noose around my neck
He sat across the room in plaid
Remarked upon the crosshatch of red
That drew the crooked red grin on the white of my thigh
Like loops of raspberry liquorice
Seeping out sticky tears
He misses handling the vegetables
Who ordered cocktails in lurid colours
Well, I’ve a mélange of my own
A collection of prescriptions from the doctor’s office
Stored in a heart shaped box
To swallow down like jelly beans
I’m waiting for that deadly sugar rush
Death’s been dancing on my doorstep
Absent minded as I sit at the dinner table
Head in hand, foot in grave
There’ll be no morning migraine
Perhaps a little mourning in the peripheral vision
Swept up from beneath the climbing frame
Under a soil blanket with a tomb stone mattress
Coughing up the sand in my throat
That I emptied from the egg-timer
Those darling quadrilateral crystals
Blissful in their ignorance
Disturbing my quiet complacency
Drowned in a glass of tomato juice
That I poured from my skull
Death holds my hand in the dark
And I whisper to pass on the message
Bury me with pyjama’s and a pillow
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 6:23 AM UTC
I can feel the rough surface of your goodbyes
Little monsters who bite at my flesh
They scar me and cut me and snag the little parts of me you loosened and I nearly let come undone
But at least I get to keep a little reminder of you
Even if it is a wound
A little something left of you to cling to
I can taste the bitterness of your unsweetened words
Their sour expressions like acid on my tongue
As they collide with mine, yours spilling from your lips, mine from mine,
and though you said you wished it and dreamed it, our lips, they never touched
Words words born of ink or vocal chords
Both vicious weapons and a divine form of healing
I can hear your silence
It whispers softly to me
It’s cold and sounds like the quiet night air when you are alone
And make a wish on a star even though you don’t believe for a second it could come true
I inhale the scent of your regrets
They haunt you and plague you like disease, ghosts and demons they stalk you in various states or consciousness
And their drifting aroma reminds me of the final day of autumn before the very first snowfall
I can see your mean streak
It cackles maliciously
Your shards of cruelty
They are silver and glint in the candlelight like blades
There is one intangible thing of yours that I can perceive in you that I really wish I couldn’t
I can’t taste it, or feel it by touch, sight, scent or sound.
It is not quite an idea
Nor a thought
Nor a concept or a fleeting feeling or emotion
But whatever it is It is swirling around your aura
Rising from your mind like steam from the fragile surface of a cup of Irish tea
And it stings so badly
Because whatever it is
I can sense it somehow with my soul
I can sense you not Missing me.
Not one little bit.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
Hoyden
Perched in a tree
high aloft her mystic mountain
a hoyden sits
wrenching daisies from her hair
She cackles as they cascade
down to earth
Fluttering in a last attempt to fly
The last recognizes defeat,
alighting on the forest floor
She bursts from her throne
crashing atop the petals she’s discarded
Whooping, she stands,
brushes off her dirt covered skirt
Some day, I will be free
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
Watching from a distant crowd
tears streaming down
lies forced
onto an innocent soul
silenced
by invisible barriers
voice stolen
demons and monsters lurk in the night
words piercing the heart
cackles from the corners of the mind
as repeatedly the lies
are reflected
in the dark atmosphere
pills
therapy
'support groups'
All don't know what help is
My hear his crying in anger
desperately reaching out through a virtual screen
to rip down the lies
and stories etched
in bruises and cuts
for every truth hidden in false words
ever day living in fear
monsters disguised as men
and men treated as monster
fading, fading
bruises are fading
fading, fading
away the lies
fading, fading
who
deserves this?
fading fading
fade into my world
where all lies are faded out
fade into me
and my outstretched arms
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
Among the orchard weeds, from every search,
Snugly and sure, the old hen’s nest is made,
Who cackles every morning from her perch
To tell the servant girl new eggs are laid;
Who lays her washing by, and far and near
Goes seeking all about from day to day,
And stung with nettles tramples everywhere;
But still the cackling pullet lays away.
The boy on Sundays goes the stack to pull
In hopes to find her there, but naught is seen,
And takes his hat and thinks to find it full,
She’s laid so long so many might have been.
But naught is found and all is given o’er
Till the young brood come chirping to the door.
2.5k
Stuck
The tape keeps on repeating
No disgust or hate
I just cannot relate
Anymore
Any longer
Stuck
Here I can't escape
Even though I ran
And I changed
I stayed the same
Too tired to sleep
Too afraid to dream
Stuck in a bowl
A delicate stream holds me
Down to sanity
Stuck
Here I can't escape
Tried courage
Valiant I was defeated
My dreams won't let me in
Stuck
Here I shall never
Escape my fate
Insanity cackles
Taunting each vein
I'm still running
Too tired to wake up
Too tired to fight
Stuck
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 12:53 PM UTC
He seeks truth in places of no good.
He flies high in places where others stood
Still he cries tears of perpetual sense.
A chameleon
his outer vesture cloaks his identity.
Unyielding
He plants his foot in the dirt.
Tangled vines tie his toes
contrasting his poetic prose.
Left dangling in the temptress spider lily's web
the noose tightens
as the old boy sings.
A fist with two thumbs
he raises like a martian.
Strangers illegibly write him
off.
A Jekyllish laugh
empties the mucus from his lungs.
Eons of inhaling senseless knowledge
he finds a second breathe to speak.
Words slice the web of lies
spinning silk into impenetrable pride.
Raw and uncut
his diction polishes diamonds
before were only rust.
He wakens every morning
Anew defiant face.
Contradicting himself
a joke
he cackles everyday.
The children who say he's changed
are correct.
But the chameleon found his true colors
somewhere between the lines
of white and black.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
To hide behind a solid barrier,
to fade into the shadows.
To seek the comfort of the covers,
to crawl through comforting meadows
of stability and repetition-
possessing, overpowering.
A dictator of Life's daily manner-
frightening and towering.
An endless gasp for liberation,
freedom from the rusty shackles-
worn are they from endless grappling,
heartless mirth and hearty cackles.
The words that cluster in the throat
when fear is puppeteer-
the doll that finds no choice at all
but to appease the commandeer
and fade into the dark, ashamed,
of wretched weakening fear.
When will the shackles fall away
their screams,deafening, subside-
the shadows black, so dim, dissolve
and leave no place to hide?
Dictatorship of every move
and word and step and sound,
when will the final song be sang
of Liberty unbound?
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 1:50 PM UTC
(Haiku)
.
1
Black God
Huge cumulus clouds,
Exploding into the blue,
. . . Shadowed by raven
2
Valley Morn
Dark hands working fields,
Raven tracing mountain crests,
. . . Carnal tillers wake
3
Raven Spell
Dark sound raven makes,
Chortles top fir tree, haunting—
. . . Druids incantation
4
Unfaithful
Snow covers valley—
Solitary raven staining world,
. . . Love has turned black
5
Outcast
Many years alone,
Suddenly— old thoughts of her,
. . . Lone raven in sky
6
Mischief
Lone raven cackles . . .
Clouds splinter across the sky,
. . . Mist cuts down the woods
7
Marked
Full moon crowns tall pine,
Raven landing in cross hairs,
. . . Dark angels halo
8
Loki
Raven knows a charm,
A child's costume jewelry,
. . . Colours a black eye
9
Tall Tale
Zenith of winter—
Lone raven in naked tree,
. . . Spring only legend
10
Dark Angel
In his feathered dress . . .
Raven shrouds beneath the clouds,
. . . Even eyes are black
.
Nov 14, 2021
Nov 14, 2021 at 12:46 AM UTC
The jester is weeping - locked in the bathroom, not coming out
the jester is weeping like a girl stag on prom night
each fetal rock accompanied by a jingle of bells
he painted a picture of perfect only to find the paint dry
the ugly makeup is running down his face
and his suit is tattered with grit
a clown is a last straw to clutch when the world is burning
“yeah, but at least it’s funny”
his drink spilling down his chin
watch as he makes a balloon noose
so the children can play hangman with his wavering decisions
his pants are full of candy
call it a painata
you can laugh and laugh and laugh
until it all sounds like wailing
the jester, weeping like the fool he plays
the crown’s court pleased with their pet
obnoxious explosions of ignorant, blissful cackles
the jester is tired
he has to go to sleep now
and the once they lose the laughter
they will see the brutal realities
they will be cannibalized by their fear
God, save the Jester
he’s all we’ve got
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC
There's a raccoon inside me,
I've never liked raccoons.
He nuzzles my heartstrings when I feel worthless,
and cackles maniacally when I believe that I'm worth it.
Whenever I'm bold enough to speak he claws my vocal chords closed,
leaving me dumbfounded with an obvious lump in my throat.
I feel his grimacing face and beady bandit eyes in constant stare.
He hisses angrily when he catches me unaware,
of just how afraid I am.
His grubby paws pander to my love of cancelled plans.
I guess you could say we're selfish,
because I relish the nights spent alone with him.
And I'm positive that he does too,
because he knows I'm often too weak to leave my room,
and disdain is a dish that makes a feast for two.
I really like raccoons.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC