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Hayleigh Jun 2014
You scream urgency
Like an accident and emergency
waiting room,
like a person relapsing into addiction,
Because they pushed themselves
too soon.
And there are claw marks in the soil,
Where you've tried to get to grips,
with your inner turmoil.
And there's a danger in your voice,
Like a lost child waiting to be found,
And you string sentences at a time
but no sound, emits.
As you sit in fits,
Of hysterics.
Danger, like,
Racing cars and frightened cries,
And there are holes in your back,
Formed by the lies,
You've been subjected too
And i wonder if i could use them
To carefully breath life back into you.
The life that you seem to have let
Slip through your finger tips,
Like dry sand,
And there are wants and demands,
Taped to the pupils of your eyes,
I wonder if i get close enough,
If i could see,
If i could prize,
open,
The dreams and memories,
Before they turned stale
And congealed in your veins,
Before they curled up and died
and left you entangled,
In the remains.
And the valleys of your eyes,
Run wide and down deep,
And when you weep,
Your tears fall heavier,
Than a ten tonne van,
Falling from unreachable heights,
And there are marks on your body,
Where you've lost the fights,
The sleepless nights,
With yourself.
And you're a shadow of the man,
You used to be,
And even your shadow,
Has sought to be free from you,
Sought someone anew.
And your foundations
Are built on heartache and pain,
And those little tear ducts in your eyes,
they constantly rain,
Torrential down pours,
And there is hopelessness,
Embedded deep within your poors.
And despite the ongoing rain,
You
You're in a draught,
All the love you've showered others in
Means you've ran out,
for yourself,
And your health,
Is a picture
Of cigarettes and late night drinks,
Old whiskey, poured down sinks,
And you're reaching the brink,
The breaking point,
But you quite like the sound,
Of broken plates
And you greet with haste,
The familiar taste of
Self destruction.
And there's a ghost,
Where you used to be,
Haunting the curves
Of your smile,
Watching you all the while,
As you destroy and defile,
The cold skin,
That stretches over your protruding bones,
This terror your living in,
Lures the wolves home,
Could start a thousand wars,
And this battle your fighting,
These revolving doors,
Inside of your mind,
Leave a carcus, a morsel,
A shell,
Of yourself behind.
And your insides stick to the past,
Like double sided cello tape,
And there are windchimes in your spine,
Counting down the time you wait,
For freedom to meet you
With open arms,
And your arms,
Paint a picture of self harm,
In bright red pen,
And the ringing of alarms is renewed
Again and again.
And your heart on your sleeve,
Is clouded,
And weaved,
Between fragile pastel pink scars,
And the hesitation in your voice,
Jars any conversation,
And you scream in frustration
As we express your complications.
And you,
You wish desperately,
That you could be free,
Of those demons, the sin,
For a new beginning.
And there's toxic in your lungs,
And a noose around your neck,
Where you've hung your expectations
Too high,
And you're hanging by a thread,
And the further you slip,
The more knots you tie,
In an attempt to buy time,
And you drink down each crime against yourself,
With another bottle of wine,
As you search and unwind,
The mazes within your mind.
And you can see in the way you carry your frame,
That you've been to the depths of hell and danced with the devil in vain,
On many occasions,
And your eyes they tell tales wanders
Of liquid sedation,
As you squeeze into a nation,
Too small,
Too handle,
Too inexperienced,
Too dismantle,
The train wreck,
You see,
Every time you look
Intensely,
At your reflection,
And your recollections of your past,
Are like shards of sharp glass,
Scattered between the seams of your life,
And you,
You batter the strife,
With drug filled bombs,
Painful tongues and licks,
Of the kicks,
You deny to be true,
As you continue to fall through,
Reality in a clarity,
Smeared with drunken violence,
And ear piercing silence.
Redrafted :)
drumhound Nov 2013
6:30 am
The chippy irritation from my bedside table
forces an unconscious groan.
Starting from my curled toes
swelling
in tidal wave tremors
to my twitching torso.
Manifesting in indiscriminate slapping of
lamps
reading material
and finally
the clock…
 
If I were honest in my disdain
I wouldn't turn on the lights
nor spend a minute
looking for acceptable clothes
to appease civilization

…But I do.
 
People expect to see Me today, wrapped
in preconceived ideologies.
Some societal, some induced.
Portions I have enabled - even propagated
with detailed grooming rituals,
ongoing hair color treatments,
and anti-aging skin
regiments.

Which is a lie

Because I still see it… everyone does.
Minimizing at best.
But "anti"?
Not.
 
I aquiese to the
expectations.
Because this
carefully crafted,
death defying carcus
is the only thing
Most of them will ever know...

The painted
coiffed
decorated
Me
and my persona,
coated in Teflon,
sculpted to situations,
an everyday
chameleon
who will never let one title
stick to the
hot rock climate
I call life.
 
It has been said
you are who you are
when no one is
watching.
But my village watches.
 
Through most of this life,
in and out of my glass house,
I am
in my universe
a spectator sport
with expectant fans.
Where the others hope
the receiver makes the catch,
the singer hits the high note,
the magician disappears…

And I enter.
Stage right.
With my highlighted spiky hair
in perfect
chaotic
order.
 
(I let go for a very short season.
The silence about it
spoke of the
disapproval.
Yawn.

So what?
I was grieving.
I got better and gave in
to recycling...

Hi honey, I'm home...with old Me.)
 
The "real" crowd touts
transparency
as a measuring stick of
unfettered character.
While border-free openness
and lack of secrets
may only make one a bad confidante…
not a great person.
 
The diversity of Me is
untainted by opinion.
Purity needs no approval, nor apology.
I am intentionally
loud and quiet,
public and private
seen and unseen
understood… and not.
No lesser
or greater.
Equally
Me.
I am all that you see.
Which, by the way,
is the better part of
Me.
 
They drive by daily.
Casting stares
on the angular structures
in the city.
Never doubting
viability.
Even though there were plans,
predestination,
packaging,
posturing.
Yet a man... a man
with these four p's
is branded of
superficiality,
rigidity,
dishonesty.
 
People...
Ignorance is bliss
but you are WAY too happy
criticizing contingency
while mocking
less than
perfect
charisma.

Disgusting.

So lost
in your lack of personal
direction
that you prefer
everyone else
burn their maps…
I have seen my map.
I have planned the route.
I have chosen the vehicle.
The person I want you
to see is who
I am.
Because that is all you will
ever know.
And I like him
or I wouldn't be him.
 
Don't ask for my transparency.
You couldn't deal with
the guts of
it all.
That's okay too - you shouldn't have to.
We all are who we are
in the moment our lives
intersect.
Some murderers are loving fathers.
Both are true.
 
So be sure of this
one thing.
I do my hair for
me.

I'm glad that you like it.
When they say 'I got your back',
make sure they don't have
a knife in their hand.

It feels like I'm
just a dog and
I've only dug up
one more
bone of contention.

When I say
I'd like to
give you
a knuckle
sandwich,
I know it's
not for the best
even though
it's true,
in the end,
I'm like the robot
flying the drone
unmaned,
I've got ******
behind
these sunglasses,
so I  end up
throwing up
my arms
and settle with
pounding sand.

You ask; "What's your problem?"
While I stand among
the stars,
And I shout out,
"too many to mention."
I have bought
and sold
the Farm.


When I grew ill
and had to
leave my job,
you treated it like,
I was a lazy *******.

You had me
by the  *****,
yea,
that *** got stirred.

I was so
'on fire'
with anger.

You stood there
with a bellows
fanning
the flames.

I got your number,
I know your game.

After knowing you
more than a decade,
being there
to look after your kids
while you
went out and drank away
the money
I loaned you,
all the while trying
to get yourself laid.
Man I played the fool.

I miss the kids,
and the 'should of dids',
as for you, you can go to hell.

Like the carcus
of a rotting animal
you give off
such a strong sickening smell.

**** the "Glade",
**** the
keeping all the
doors and windows open.

I'm going out
to have a drink,
What a weight
off of my shoulders.

Get lost
because
just got paid,
I'll be dammed
if once again
I'll let myself
get made.

© 2013
All Rights Reserved
I'm sure you'll enjoy watching me fall to pieces ,
to see my tears, You'll gladly indulge in my pain,
you tore my apart my heart,
You left me a carcus with only emotions left in me,
only tears to be cried and blood to be shed,
Your so happy with yourself,
Your stupid smirk that grows on your face once you see me at my weakest,
your a heartless being and you destroyed me!
Matalie Niller May 2012
We sit
and chat
and my heart feels like an excited baby bird
grasping at regurgitated worm carcus.
We walk
your arm hairs graze my own follicles;
my belly oozes all kinds of warm lovely juices.
Is this love?
Inexperience?
Or am I resisting your prying affection?
You are much too nice
to be seen with the likes of me.
Hayleigh Jun 2014
You scream urgency
Like an accident and emergency
waiting room,
like a person relapsing into addiction,
Because they pushed themselves
too soon.
And there are claw marks in the soil,
Where you've tried to get to grips,
with solid ground,
There's a danger in your voice,
Like a lost child waiting to be found,
And you string sentences at a time
but no sound emits.
Danger, like,
Racing cars and frightened cries,
And there are holes in your back,
Formed by the lies,
You've been subjected too
And i wonder if i could use them
To breath life back into you.
I wonder if i get close enough,
If i could see,
The dreams and memories,
Before they turned stale
And congealed in your veins,
And left you entangled in the remains.
The valleys of your eyes,
Run wide and down deep,
And when you weep,
Your tears fall heavier,
Than a ten tonne van,
You're a shadow of the man,
You used to be,
And even your shadow,
Has deserted you,
Sought someone anew.
And your foundations
Are built on heartache and pain,
And those little tear ducts in your eyes,
Constantly rain,
But you you're in a draught,
All the love you've showered others in
Means you've ran out,
for yourself,
And your health is a picture
Of cigarettes and late night drinks,
Old whiskey, poured down sinks,
And you're reaching the brink,
The breaking point,
But you quite like the sound,
Of broken plates,
And you quite like the taste,
Of self destruction.
And there's a ghost,
Where you used to be,
Haunting the curves
Of your smile,
That you paint on,
Why you defile
Your skin,
This terror your living in,
Could start a thousand wars,
And this battle your fighting,
Inside of your mind,
Leaves a carcus, a morsel,
Of yourself behind.
Your insides stick to the past,
Like double sided cello tape,
And there are windchimes in your spine,
Where your bones should be,
And your heart on your sleeve,
Is clouded,
By red marks where you've sliced open your skin,
In at attempt to be free,
Of those demons, the sin,
For a new beginning.
There's toxic in your lungs,
And a noose around your neck,
Where you've hung your expectations
Too high,
And you're hanging by a thread,
And tying knots the further down you slip,
As you sip,
Another shot of courage.
But there's only so long,
One can hold on for,
And believe me I've been down
To the depths of hell and danced with the devil
On many occasions,
And the sheer frustration,
Of the attempts to be patient,
Are wearing thin,
Like the warm skin, that stretches,
Over your protruding bones.
Just a first draft..
Hayleigh Jul 2014
You scream urgency like an accident and emergency waiting room, like a person relapsing into addiction, because they pushed themselves too soon.
And there are claw marks in the soil, where you've tried to get to grips, with your inner turmoil.
And there's a danger in your voice, like a lost child waiting to be found, and you string sentences at a time but no sound, emits. As you sit in fits, of hysterics.
Danger, like racing cars and frightened cries, and there are holes in your back, formed by the lies, you've been subjected too. And i wonder if i could use them to carefully breathe, life back into you.
The life that you seem to have let slip through your finger tips, like dry sand, and there are wants and demands, taped to the pupils of your eyes, and i wonder if i get close enough, if i could see, if i could prize, them open.
The dreams and memories, before they turned stale and congealed in your veins, before they curled up and died, and left you entangled, in the remains.
And the valleys of your eyes, run wide and down deep, and when you weep, your tears fall heavier, than a ten tonne van, falling from unreachable heights.
And there are marks on your body, where you've lost the fights, the sleepless nights, with yourself. And you're a shadow of the man, you used to be, and even your shadow, has sought someone anew.
And your foundations are built on heartache and pain, and those little tear ducts in your eyes, they constantly rain. torrential down pours.
And there is hopelessness, embedded deep within your pours and despite the ongoing rain, you,you're in a draught, all the love you've showered others in means you've ran out, for yourself.
And your health, is a picture of cigarettes and late night drinks, old whiskey, poured down sinks.
And you're reaching the brink, the breaking point. But you quite like the sound, of broken plates and you greet with haste, the familiar taste of self destruction.
And there's a ghost, where you used to be, haunting the curves of  your smile, watching you all the while, as you destroy and defile, the cold skin, that stretches over your protruding bones.
This terror your living in, lures the wolves home, could start a thousand wars, and this battle your fighting, these revolving doors, inside of your mind, leave a carcus, a morsel, a shell, of yourself behind.
And your insides stick to the past, like double sided cello tape, and there are windchimes in your spine, counting down the time you wait, for freedom to meet you with open arms, and your arms, paint a picture of self harm, in bright red pen, and the ringing of alarms is renewed again and again.
And your heart on your sleeve, is clouded, and weaved, between fragile pastel pink scars, and the hesitation in your voice, jars any conversation, and you scream in frustration as we express your complications.
And you, you wish desperately, that you could be free, of those demons, the sin, for a new beginning.
And there's toxic in your lungs, and a noose around your neck,where you've hung your expectations too high,
And you're hanging by a thread, and the further you slip, the more knots you tie, in an attempt to buy time,
And you drink down each crime against yourself, with another bottle of wine, as you search and unwind, the mazes within your mind.
And you can see in the way you carry your frame, that you've been to the depths of hell and danced with the devil in vain, on many occasions,
And your eyes they tell tales wanders, of liquid sedation, as you squeeze into a nation, too small, too handle, too inexperienced, too dismantle, the train wreck, you see, every time you look intensely, at your reflection,
And your recollections of your past, are like shards of sharp glass,scattered between the seams of your life, and you, you batter the strife, with drug filled bombs, painful tongues and licks, of the kicks, you deny to be true, as you continue to fall through, reality in a clarity, smeared with drunken violence, and ear piercing silence.
Redrafted with a new format and structure. Hope you all like it.
the dead bird Feb 2016
I try to be kind
but.

it is Tuesday.
I am crying
smoking
alone
outside my work
I am quite obviously
trying to keep it
on the DL.
there's no
loud,
dramatic weeping.
if
I wanted a random strangers
fake
caring
I would howl like the wind

I
would flail my arms and legs
against the ground
kick
scream
make it known
that I want
your words that drip
with fakeness
and your selfish
motives.

"hey-
are you okay sweetheart?"
do I ******* look okay?
why is it
any of YOUR business.
old man
stranger
I am sure you meant well.
but believe me
I know that
anything "comforting"
on your part
will just be regurgitated
lines
that you read somewhere
or heard someone say once
do not
pretend to give a ****.
keep your
unwanted
unnecessary
words

like,
it will get better
(thank you, all seeing being of the future)
don't cry!
(******* and don't tell me what to do)
but you're too pretty to be upset!

so since
I am physically attractive to you
Am I not allowed
to feel?
I am prohibited
from having
any emotional depth
any
substance
that would make me
a human being.
you make me hate life
ten times more.

maybe that's somewhat unfair.
maybe he was only trying to help
maybe I should
appreciate that somebody
wanted to make me feel better.

no, he wanted
to make himself feel better
a pat on the back
so he can pet his ego
and make himself feel
like someone who is
real.
good.
kind.
I don't care
for your half hearted sympathy

*******
I don't want to be
something
that helps you sleep at night
that makes you feel
like you are worthy
of the things you desire
worthy
of the women
you ******* to
worthy
of devouring
the grilled
carcus
of what used to be
a living being
that is sitting in front of you
with a bow on top.
you are worse
than the animals you eat.
you are worse
than the spit
that I launched at your feet

which to you, was
"way out of line"
good.
think about why it happened to you.
learn from my spit.

my words of advice
to this man:
next time you are out
and you see a stranger
who looks sad
or someone
who is crying
silently
to themselves
leave them the **** alone.
if they're making a scene,
that's something.
but there's a reason
I was discreetly
crying.

you are not entitled
for me to share my pain
my thoughts
my feelings
with you
if I wanted to,
I would.
me spitting
at your feet
is nicer than any words
that would have exited
my mouth.
Dwayne Dewar May 2014
There's nobody ,no bodies I've ascended this earth..floating over my dead carcus accessing my worth...was my life worth living did I achieve success,,did I leave a legacy behind that people won't forget
Will I be remembered for the good or the bad
I know some people thought I was nuts and that there is a fact,,we can't all be perfect but I love who I am...so until that day arrives and death shows himself ...I'mma do as much as I can while being myself
it had started to rain on the night that she first decided
to make her way onto a graveyard scene for it was none other but Halloween
a black cat pranced passed her view she didn't know what to do
so like a fool she took a risk going into a nearby crypt
features were in her eyes as if a fake disguise
wearing a black dress as if gothic apparel
while inside she wept forgetting the things she missed
suddely a knock came at the door lest it was a bore
a hand was extended toward her back almost giving her a heart attack
for it was the beloved care taker inspecting the situation
before he left Zoe had confessed she needed to be alone in her solace
for their she remained an an hour had passed
this time a figure came toward her with piercing eyes and teeth
grabbing her by the neck and soon she would forget
after making a feast of the fare lady Zoe the figure had left
blood masquerade every where she was no more
police in the early morning were summoned to sort out the great mess
left as if road **** her remains brought none the thrill

all the authories saw was a lone black cat walking back and forth
nothing short of a homicide her fate was sealed
grizzly allegations of a murderer for hire even blamed it on the care taker
but many years latter we all read in the paper
the creature in question was at it again with long hanging fangs that bite
this time it wasn't in the night to fright but in the day
a farmer went out to barrel some hay
the creature went straight for his neck but the farmer said, "What the heck"?
put his pitch fork through the vain beings eyes and to his surprise the creature just died.
Scientists inspected the evidence of the carcus and realized it wasn't from this world
Zoe didn't die in vain she was just out living her life game
Keelyn Mac Mar 2015
With out healing from the night before im back at it again
Im a slumped up carcus
In rooms poorly lit
My eyes to low peeking through
Creeses of purgatory.
With scenes that change
Dwayne Dewar May 2014
There's nobody ,no bodies I've ascended this earth..floating over my dead carcus accessing my worth...was my life worth living did I achieve success,,did I leave a legacy behind that people won't forget
Will I be remembered for the good or the bad
I know some people thought I was nuts and that there is a fact,,we can't all be perfect but I love who I am...so until that day arrives and death shows himself ...I'mma do as much as I can while being myself
Keith W Fletcher Oct 2023
...Something so familiar
seemed to be hanging
just outside my periphery...
like an annoying honey bee
Suddenly I popped up
from a languid moment
of heat driven exhaustion....
knowing something
had to be done.
So I grabbed my official hat
out my office door I...hobbled along  
due...to... my left leg being asleep
"wake up you fool"
I muttered as I angled
past the front desk
where
that new deputy stood playing on some little box
"Is that an IPOD?"
No sir! what's an Ipod ?
never mind
just keep people off that bridge
till I return and tell you different! Is that clear?
Yes sir Danial...uhhh chief ...!
Good now get going.

I got to go talk to the D. A.
then out I went to the most oppressive sept heat seen in decades

"NO! No way! That's not possible!"
You think so...? the chief asked
well just look out there in the streets.
Where are the kids-
home studying for school when it's still 2 days away?
Raymond Frazer D.A. for Upton county + 2 more back in the hill country.
"I am...de...
doodlytermined
so you coming?
"Yeah chief...but just to prove you...
can't and won't
overstep your authority."
And who would determine that? Judge.... Willoughby?well let's go see what he has to say then.
If you can get him
to approve your overreach
I won't say another word!

Hello Judge my dispatcher call you?
"Yes. She did and ,I must say...lunch?sure ,but it sounds like a walk down memory land lane
We might as well! gonna get some good bbq and cold beer out on the hiway.
10 minutes.
We will pick you up
after you get done with Betty Lou

oh and write this on a sheet of of cardboard and post it. .*** the judge chuckled
be there to pick you up in a jif.

Who's Betty Lou? And where we going now?
Find that Deputy of mine give him a special assignment.

County ordinance or 2
So ....
Technically
we were trespassers
By all truth of right, wrong or law...but
No harm meant by the rules
we bent
MAYBE...
Telling too many seemed the major flaw


That overbearing, solar flaring, heat streak
summer of desperation turned inspiration
When seeing people instead of watching people
Gave me different ways of creating separation

From what I see and what I'm shown
What I'm told and what it is
I actually hear
What I say and what I truly believe
And how somethings really are...just as they appear

Amazingly enough this cyber shift implosion
Crashed thru the outer me
careening around within my fragile core
While crouching down in a clump of bushes
Staring into caramel brown eyes of a girl...who was
Just as naked as me

It blew through town back then  like a hot dry wind on a July day
When people were melting like long stick candles   bowing
like an emissary to a King
In any window where the aftenoon sun shines bright
As it is
magnified...like the stupid cruel rumor

A rumor that a farmer broke a water main while plowing

Literally what else would it take to break
That fragil overbearingly irriatatingly ******* monotony
that held the midwest
American small towns dying summer that
year
a near-death grip
Except.... maybe...if
the rumor had
turned out to be phony

The trail of misfit cars, pickups, motorcycles rolling North
must have looked like the jailbreak/ carnival parade it was...that
seemed to gather stragglers like a magnet gathers iron filings
Soon on saddle bank road 120+ kids
Naked and as innocent in the fact...
That one might think that today was the day
they were born and in some ways...
they were! Fully fledged
in exodus
from the womb
of pure monotonous ladened
claustrophobic morality... have way to languished hedonistic daydreams

Static groups of slow-melting apparitions
Unaware uninspired unintended refugees
Of homes...
of family...
and abject boredom
of that sad summer of high petrol- low crude performance and
Summer jobs never blooming and now... add a drought.

As the final Saturday wilted on the absentee mind
Before the Monday rises to drag them back in...
...to the ritualized killing of all who found
The looming tedium  of lessons and tests
unbearably cruel to have school begin its pull
Without ever even having a glimpse
Of the dying ghost
of a summer break that never was.

Until...that steady drone
rose from a distance
Those 90cc pistons
spitting hope as its frantic echo
Seemed
to somehow announce
from 3 miles away
"help he's killing me!"

Razer was making that hybrid bike scream
then...right down main he came shouting thunderously
But to no avail...
....as every word
unheard...
undecipherable

"...daughter shake
bigganake
common shop..." was the word that ppl heard....

...then it died
PISTON ROD took off over the barbershop
Headed for the moon

Razer stood over the smoking carcus
Spit on it ...kicked it... then saluted it ...
Before saying hey common nowz its flowing and growing
Quicker than quick ...
and that was how summer came to a glorious end.

with a ten acres puddle
Water spraying 30 ft high and by gawd we took to it like
butter to hot biscuits.
until that is
the cops arrived!

And we all run to hide.
.. so here's where
I started this tale

Shhh.. I said
to this *******
beside me
Flesh-colored and glistening ...
We better stay put
you know...
... till it calms down
Hey!  I don't believe I've ever seen you around...the town before...
do you live here... in Braeden  I mean?

We just moved here
she said.
Hi, I'm Joy-Ann Hope
And she surely was at that!
  forever  ...well
Until I changed her last name and she became Joy-Ann PAYNE.
HEY IM NOT TO BLAME
9 MONTHS  later we
met a little girl
named Summer Dawn Payne!

We know all that Daniel...but you cannot expect us...the DA and Chief judge ..not to mention members of the school board and...
Shut that up Judge Willoughby...
and be Mickey Willoughby and Ray Ray ...not D.A.Frazier for a second so you can remember.
Think back 38 yrs and how that line of dried out ,dusty, forlorn kids suddenly came alive that day ...the horns honking, bicycle tires spinning and Ol Joey P ...rest his soul on that horse of his as it clattered along the concrete and clopped by the lead car by galloping along the grass shoulder.
Beat us all to the puddle and I will never forget what we saw when we got close
Him and the mare neck deep ...ha haha ha Yes. Joey P and Nantucket Grey were good people. Rest in peace old friends.

Okay ...the heck with it say the judge mickey to the sad moment of revered silence ...I'm about ready to retire and as I recall that day now I realize 1 thing
Crystal effen clear now
I saw Mary Hortons ...uhh Who that day..and that I somehow got old.
I'm sold Chief ...Sorry, Daniel what do we do?
Well Ray Ray County DA what do you not have to say now?

Just Question guys...shall we go get a tractor or sledge hammers?

Oh come on guys this is the 21 century and I am chief of police with ... well army surplus courtesy
of the fed gov and everything we said we would fix when we got "growed up"
Maybe today we help the next gen or two know what freedom really feels like.
Ray .. call the sheriff " little Bobbie Jones " and tell him
- and them-
to stay the f away.
Judges order.  
Hope wins again.
wn
Lucy F Apr 2019
breathing heavily
his hand puncturing my skin
like a mosquito
******* my blood
taking my soul

dripping red
soaking rags
gasping for breath
snap.           crack.
      free
          floating
                carcus
If  I could  see you just once more time ,
without you’re  name in stone ,
or marble images all in white .
Without the hosts of the starry nights ,
a pilgrims life times work,
written under moonlight night ,
In a time we could call own own .

Then If roses bloom to no avail ,
then weep and wilt because you’re blossoms fail ,                                      then  I should employ  a thousand minstrels to dance and sing .
then  they will be enough to raise you from your sleep
, for evermore ?

So cold you lay ,
so peaceful now ,
Yet my rose shall wilt and die .

Then so beit  
If my fingers blessed they  bleed against your stone ,
under your blood red sky .
For at least it will be a reminder that I am not alone.
Then you ****** my blood into your mouth ,
my hair you gently caressed
as ours eyes met
as red as the sky’s dying light ,
under your naked breast .
As red as the rose I once gave to you it
shall bloom again once more .


And as I turned to walk away ,
i heard your voice again ,
“ Come quick whilst the skies are still red ,
come quick and don’t delay “
come and make these rose petals for our bed ,
for this night let it be said
will be forever and a day “

‘ And yes my roses are still red ,
and every night they bloom ,
a stone cold carcus for a bed ,
where  thistle and **** grow undisturbed around
her white marble statue ,
underneath where rose petals lay ,
can still be visible to this day .
There was no love in their eyes ,
no hope for mans .
Curdled in death ,
there is nowhere for mankind to begin.

No love or kindly thoughts ,
no sacrament for sin ,
not even a burnt offering so we could begin .

And we would all  if our eyes blinded by the snow ,
the peasant found nowhere to go ,
The thief who starving and cold stole a carcus of beef for his wife ,
yet  did not find sanctuary from the church in broad day light .

So we work to pay our debtors for what we have built ,
and drink ,
and drink ,
and drink .
To fill our nights with  rude drunken songs ,
and tell ourselves that’s where we belong .
For if man is evil than God is love ,
for he doth not look on man from above ,
and pity our souls before opening the bin ,
but sent Christ Jesus ,
as a babe just so we could begin.

— The End —