"finn" poems
Poor dolphin
with no fin
finn the human
come to rescue him
attaches new fins
now he can swim
go back to africa
whoops wrong poem
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
Did you see the dolphin with hands?
They grew from fins
and now he flips cakes,
serving them up for dozens of fans.
Did you see the dolphin with hands?
His keepers were shocked
when they saw the fingers,
long and gray with nails on the ends.
Did you see the dolphin with hands?
He can juggle, he can fight,
there is no one that he can’t smite.
Oh, and he makes houses out of sand.
Did you see the dolphin with hands?
Scientists are baffled,
doctors confused, because dolphins
shouldn’t be able to play in hair metal bands.
Did you see the dolphin with hands?
His name is Finn, despite the lack of them,
and he is a mutant fish
who can flip pans.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
I know the heart is a heavy thing
and if today you managed to lift it
a few inches off the ground,
I am proud.
You need to understand that there are no turning points.
Your life is not a movie and your fears will not disappear
as soon as someone loves you back. There are only moments
when the glimmer of light you are chasing seems closer than the darkness that is always chasing you but in these moments
every single thing has been worth it.
And I know sometimes you only want it over, this never ending war
but the battle raging within ourselves is the only one worth fighting.
I do not believe in much, but of that-
of that I am sure.
In spite of it all be a force for good wherever you can. Every smile
to a stranger is a little victory. So smile now.
You are alive.
And please understand that victory
is not a sunrise to the zenith
victory is getting out of bed
and finding for the first time in weeks you are not so afraid.
Trust your gut, or whatever part of your life you believe in the most.
The only decisions I regret are the ones I didn’t really make myself.
Hope and wishful thinking are two different things, and only
one is going to hurt you. The other is something to cling to
with everything you have, and never lose sight of.
Sometimes love is tenderness. Sometimes love is flowers and sometimes
love is a small patch of soil and a packet of seeds.
Love is never someone telling you how hopelessly broken you are
and telling you it’s good.
Remember the tides rise and fall and never meet but the sea
goes on looking for itself on the other side of the world. Even the sea has hope
and it’s the biggest **** being on Earth.
Remember time is a concept that humans created and clocks may stop ticking but reality never runs out.
Your chances are endless.
Remember every step back is another step you know how to take forward.
Nothing’s ever wasted.
The last thing to remember is that however much they take
from you, your demons will never be satisfied. And I know this is a terrifying thought
but it also means they are always fighting a losing battle.
However long the war goes on, there is only one possible winner
and the winner is you.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 12:09 PM UTC
'come on, ellie, just breathe.' he said to her.
'but, finn i c-'
'stop talking and listen to me for once.' he demanded.
'but, sometimes even to breathe hurts. i can not do it.' she whispered, stating the truth.
'do you love me?'
'of course,'
'then do it for me, ellie. breathe for me. be free.' he encouraged her.
i can't do it, finn.'
'sure you can, i love you.'
'okay, then.' she gave in.
and then, she let out her first and last breath.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
Do I believe in reincarnation? No. not in the strictest sense.
But if matter can neither be created nor destroyed I think there
must be
a piece of everyone's heart still beating somewhere
in the past or future tense.
I know we all become dust, but that dust becomes someone new
and so it takes a thousand parts to make a life, not just two.
And that is why maybe you cry at the sight of daffodils blooming
because a part of you lost his mother in the spring.
And somehow you are sure that you have heard your lover's
voice before.
(I swear, they feel it, too
because a piece of them also once loved a piece of you.)
I like that idea, you know.
That we are bound to other people
by carrying the traces of these same old souls
from a thousand years ago.
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC
i.
He stared at the woman, eyes darting to memorize her angles and features,
at any moment this mirage could disappear.
For two full minutes he was unable to speak, too scared to let words loose;
they can no longer be hidden once they’ve been exposed.
So he kissed her instead, because he liked how it felt to no longer feel alone.
ii.
The grip of loneliness refused to let her go, like the claws of a jealous lover.
“One thing for certain, there is no god. We are completely alone, love is ********
“What if I showed you that you are not alone, how would it change your life?”
“I think I might actually be happy.”
“You are happy when you let yourself be…there is this…fire inside of you, but
every time the momentum starts to build you tell yourself whatever you need to
hear to keep it from taking you.”
iii.
“Why the hell are you starting this with me? This isn’t right.”
“Who says I’m starting anything?”
“Oh, you’re one of ‘those’ guys.”
“What are ‘those’ guys?”
“The type of guy who pretends that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and
doesn’t admit to what he’s doing so he can play innocent when he’s called to
the carpet. But in reality, he knows exactly what he is doing, and most of it
is premeditated.”
“Like ******
“Yeah, something like that. There is a good chance something or someone
could die in this scenario.”
iv.
They laid still for a while, trying to catch their breath.
“I think your parents named you after the wrong Craig Finn character.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“They should have called you Hallelujah, because you sound like an angel
when you ***
She smiled and she kissed him and they made love again,
and she felt like an angel.
v.
He started out the door and turned, lifting his shy head to look at her
“As far as I’m concerned, you are the only one I’ve ever slept with.”
She stopped breathing, afraid to believe the nouns and verbs that were floating.
She repeated the sentence out loud after he walked away.
They were the most loving, pure and perfect words she had ever heard.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
Tipsy daze were just foreplay
for the passionate midnight sexcapades.
Every Sunday
Drinking champaign,
Not practicing self-restraint
Sneaking into privet estates
Dive into the grotto pool.
My late night wicked pagan lover,
Two lonely hearts bonded over confessions in the dark.
We were nympholepts in retrospect.
All clinquant, in gold light
But turned to heathens, in the night.
Dancing in rhythmic eruptions of fevered delight.
Wondering eyes are tantalized
You are luxurious, feral, **** boy personified.
I was mystified by the wild & eroticized by the style.
A Huckleberry Finn identical twin, ohh but of corse
-You had a Porsche.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 4:34 AM UTC
I recently had the great privilege of editing Mike Essig's latest poetry collection, THE BIOLOGY OF STRANGENESS, and I'm honoured to have been entrusted with such fantastic material. Putting together a book like this is every poetry geek's dream.
It's a beautifully textured assortment of poems, earthy yet lyrical, narrated by a voice that's uniquely grained with experience. There are pieces that will make you smile, think, wince; there are pieces that hit you in the gut out of nowhere; there are pieces that welcome you into them like old, worn-in shoes; there are pieces you will remember late some night when you're by yourself, and remembering them will make you feel less alone.
This collection of poetry makes you look at the banal and the everyday afresh; it finds magic and mystery in the mundane, and even Hawaiian shirts are poem-worthy when Mike Essig's writing about them.
The Kindle version is already available through Amazon.
A paperback edition is due out next month, and I can't wait to have a copy of this book on my shelf as well as on my e-reader.
Mike's previous poetry books, Never Forgotten and Huck Finn Is Dead are also available through Amazon and are excellent.
From his author profile on B Star Kitty Press:
"Mike Essig is a veteran of Vietnam and a retired English teacher. He’s also been recruited by the muse as a poet, like he hadn’t already been through enough."
Sample poems, links to sales pages and more info can be found at the B Star Kitty Press website. www(dot)bstarkittypress(dot)com.
Please do support this very talented indie author.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
the other night,
i had a dream;
usually,
i don’t remember
my dreams—
those unconscious
musings
of my mind—
but this night
was different;
maybe it had
something to do
with the fact
that i had fallen
in the shower
half an hour
before laying it
down on the
pillow...
...a trickle of
blood running
down my forehead,
transforming quite
alarmingly into
a babbling brook
consisting entirely
of chocolate milk;
my raft bobbed
up and down,
the demon who
haunts my nightmares
now clad in a
tuxedo—
a nice change
from the bright
pink trench coat
he usually wears...
...the demon’s
strong hands
propel the
craft forward
with a rather
Huckleberry Finn-like
affectation;
i turn my
attention from
my oldest friend
to the shore,
sparkling with
broken glass,
thumbtacks,
and mathematical
equations;
there,
i glimpse my classmates
doing burpees...
...suddenly,
a car crash
occurs;
the chocolate milk
becomes a very
narrow,
winding road,
the end of which
is obscured by
an angsty cloud
of disappointment;
the elevator
plummets horizontally toward
the 3rd sub-basement
of the shower;
my friend in
the tuxedo offers me
a steaming
cup of hot chocolate...
...which burned
my tongue,
causing me to cackle
wildly
and toss the
mug into the
abyss;
**** you cup!”
i scream,
utilizing my
full lung capacity
as i begin to
fall again,
down,
down,
down;
and then i was awake,
sweating, bleeding;
i may have a concussion...
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
Forgetting about that uptight blight.
Emanate apathy
Unapologetically.
Cheers to you Baby Jesus,
I'm all jacked up on pink Moscato; by noon.
Without a clue of what to do
Retreat to a beach
For a gala beset by an erubescent sunset.
What marry monarchs,
All clinquant, in gold light
All turn to heathens, in the night.
Perpetually transfixed
By a curious mix of
Rhythmic eruptions & fevered delight
Like fairies & nymphs
Amidst the moon of misbehaving.
Wondering eyes are tantalized
You are luxurious, feral, **** boy personified.
I was mystified by the wild & eroticized by the style.
A Huckleberry Finn identical twin, ohhh but of course
— You had a Porsche.
But we were far from bonafide.
All is well,
Who really gives a **** about a relationship cuff…
I was inherently drawn to the effervescence, of your soul.
Together in disconnected bubbles
Like a glass of champagne,
Sparkling to the surface effortlessly.
Daytime friends and nighttime lovers;
Nympholepts in retrospect,
Carefully tip-toeing around
Blossoming curiously & compromising cantor.
Over winsome side-long looks
The burgundy hardtop drops down
Into my body & out of my mind
Tipsy daze were just foreplay
For the passionate midnight sexcapades.
A midsummer’s night moonlit dream
Manifested midst the trysts of Spring.
Every Sunday
Drinking champagne,
Not practicing self-restraint
Sneaking into private estates
Dive into the grotto pool.
Worshiping the Sun, not the saint.
My late night lover show me your wicked pagan birthright.
Two lonely hearts bonded over confessions in the dark.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
Consanguinity: A Commissioned Poem
(How Well Do
You
Know Me?)
This request, from wolf spirit aka quinfinn, accidentally hit the spot of what was foremost on my mind.
Cosanguinity: A relationship by descent from a common ancestor; kinship (distinguished from affinity). A close relationship or connection.
Poetry, mine, yours,
Ours,
Invades my consciousness.
We write poems on the same subject,
Even the same title,
But a few days apart.
Insanity,
Coincidence,
or
Consanguinity?
Perhaps we are reading each other's stuff
Too much.
But that's crazy,
Or
Consanguinity?
Yet,
And yet,
We see the same things
So incredibly different.
That is the answer.
We see the same thing and I am
Struck down.
A billion sights.
A billion words.
Yet, the human computer,
Sorts, collates, and generates
A billion different writes
In a similar spirit,
Employing the same phraseology.
All right.
Alright.
Malaysia.
Minnesota.
East Coast.
West Coast.
Geographical differences.
Time differences.
No difference.
A billion differences.
The stylistic differences enable,
No, correction,
Ennobles us to coexist,
Value each other,
Learn.
Observable differences.
But more interesting,
More pleasurable,
are the incredible, visible, signs of
Consanguinity.
Mere affinity?
Kinship.
A poem?
Nah.
But at 1:11am in my location,
It's what's on my mind.
Now that I know the meaning of
Consanguinity.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
there was a little mole is name was mickey finn
and inside a hole mickey he lived in
it was very dark there wasnt any light
mickey didnt know if it was day or night
so he bought a torch so he could get around
see where he was going while underneath the ground
like a little miner looking for his coal
he just kept on digging a busy little soul
then when he got tired time to say goodnight
he climbed into his bed and turned out his light
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Don't run from me
Don't play this game
I want to love you
And I'm not ashamed
Of what I'm going to show you
Yes, show you tonight
There's another side of me
So please don't put up a fight
Just hear me out,
Listen to what I have to say
You're a beautiful girl
I could look at you everyday
You're already my princess
So let me be your prince
Don't push me to the ground
Then I'd have to go rinse
The dirt off of my skin
But the pain will remain
Forever in my heart
Making me eyes steal the rain
So love me a little
Love me tonight
Come over here
Let me kiss you light
I'll be your knight in shining armour
I'll protect you every day
It's in your hands now
All you have to do is stay
Close your eyes and count to ten
Imagine the life that we could begin
We could go on an adventure
Just like Huckleberry Finn
My love for you is real
I swear it won't falter
So marry me
I won't leave you at the altar
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:07 PM UTC
she spoke to me, on the daffodil sweetness of the pasture
while the grasses, waving, muttered their moist message on the wind
of rot, and renewal,
(but hold your lips, be still for an explosion of intimacy, for a moment)
'Are those a constellation?' she asks.
"The Pleiades."
'You don't know that.'
she doesn't care where the car begins, exhaling gently, to stop
and she commends its forward motion
(the keening love of a sodium light
and forgetfulness in every bone of my body)
I love the thrum of it, below my feet,
murmuring vibrato in the pedals.
They have a Huck Finn cave display at Disneyworld. In Adventure Island, or somewhere, or one of us, deep in the vastness of spines and fingers.
Its fiberglass walls are a portrait of America -
the glean of dew a reflection of that spirit
that drove us over the borders, the rivers, to Oregon,
so we could love under a naked moon,
and renounce our lives of glee, and security
for the bright unsettled plantation of the starless fields.
'You don't know a constellation from a cloud of dandelion seeds.'
But oh, my relentless pioneer love, I do - I know a constellation
is made of stars, and rough determination, and I know that,
love is a today thing, and we are yesterday people
that pain is tomorrow, and we will always be children of the dusk preceding
destined, dear, to find our love receding
Are you prepared, or will the wilderness this time swallow you?
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
We used to say " I love you";
Now we just think it.
The people we became
are an odd fit.
I will admit
I am no longer pleasant
to be around.
Constant scowls and frowns
amidst the silence.
The clicks of keyboards
divide us.
Define us.
Align us.
We used be to analogous
like Bubble gum Princess
and Finn.
Just like them we've become unakin.
Padme & Anakin.
My fear of loosing you has caused me to loose you.
Like an episode of That's So Raven;
attempts at the prevention
of the future
ripped open the sutures
in my heart once again.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
A Finn-Dorset clone,
Now not the alone.
Born on 5 July in 1996,
She died on Valentine's Day in 2003.
The celebrity sheep she died at the age of six,
Produced not from the common ovine ***
Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer created her, read on.
Named after Dolly Parton,
'Coz of her admired *****
Somatic cells were taken from a sheep's udders,
Extracted not without the sheep's jitters.
This sheep was the donor.
However, these cells were enucleated,
And the enucleated nucleus was handled.
Injected it was into a Finn-Dorset's embryo,
Oh yes, the embryo was without a nucleus.
This sheep was the recipient.
Without a folly, born was Dolly,
Resemble she did the donor.
Not only in its visible phenotype
But also in its invisible genotype.
Differ she did but only in her mitochondrial DNA.
Her birth did open a new portal,
Now pet lovers get their pets cloned.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 11:16 AM UTC
I miss having the entire upstairs.
I miss sitting on the futon on the landing outside of my room and writing.
I miss having three closets.
I miss the old fashioned doors I had upstairs.
I miss climbing outside of my window onto the roof at night.
I miss the outdated pink-ish red carpet.
I miss the 70’s wallpaper and how the wall by my bed was different.
I miss the silence.
I miss the sound of the train going right by.
I miss going out to the barn to practice trombone and play pool.
I miss summers there.
I miss walking home from school to the house.
I miss how close town was, yet it had a special seclusion.
I miss riding my bike to the cemetery.
I miss the long gravel road behind the barn.
I miss the willow tree.
I miss the neighbors. Even “keep off my lawn” Mike.
I miss the feeling I got pulling up to the house.
I miss being 13.
I miss the parties.
I miss my brother and sister sharing friends.
I miss living on Finn Street.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 11:19 PM UTC
Should I become a middle school math or English teacher?
Leave my bed early in the morning and return with test papers to grade.
With what authority will I persuade those kids to sit still and perform
calculations and interpretations.
I won’t be allowed to teach A Good Man Is Hard To Find. Nope, it’ll be
Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies and Slaughterhouse Five. Novels
that annoy.
Poems and math are magic. Words and numbers are things no one has
ever seen or heard or touched.
But the administration keeps them separate. The curriculum’s
determinate.
The kids are beautiful but combustible. When middle school lets out at
the periapsis of Earth’s orbit, that’s the face of joy.
The purpose of school is to introduce us to the world’s innumerable
wonders. The periodic table, World Wars I and II, Huckleberry Finn
and Jim.
Once a gaggle of teenage girls bet whether I wore boxers or jockeys. I felt
ambushed and unlucky. Also a bit afraid.
There’s little love lost between the students and the teachers. Expect to
forget and be forgotten. Information.
I remember Mr. Killian my chemistry teacher. So boring about something
I now find so interesting and important. He wasn’t boring; I was
boring.
I remember Mr. Christensen my history teacher. He was fat and funny but
taught as little as possible. I was known to laugh so hard I cried.
I remember Mr. T my calculus teacher. He dressed everyday exactly like
Gene Kranz in mission control. I was confused past help so he didn’t
help.
I remember Tone Kwas my music teacher. He said I was the worst
trumpet player he’d ever tried to teach and switched me to
sousaphone. He was right but so what! Playing badly is the best
riposte.
Mar 2, 2022
Mar 2, 2022 at 6:40 AM UTC
the moment that i laid eyes on you
time simply ceased to be
the globe stopped its spinning
and the lights started dimming
and the heathens began their fevered singing
and i forgot just who i was
the instant that your eyes fell upon my frame
i got thrown back into reality again
and i crash landed feet-first into a chair
it was fair
we both had to stifle our giggling
you spoke smoothly
almost orchestrally
some sort of poetic sing-song
heavily laced with the accent of the place that i hope to someday find you
"chicago, chicago, that toddling town..."
i hope i find you soon
wearing that same sleepy looking smile
and your news-boy cap
and that shoulder strap sack that i'd like to think you kept stuffed to the brim with college-rulled ball-point ballet
but that was years ago
now there's more than just arrhythmias and murmurs and excited flesh between our heavy chests
now there's lines drawn between our toes
lines scratched into the sands of time with the force of lightning's strike
worry lines
telephone lines
state lines
lines that furrow across the face of the map
things tend to fade out like that
the way the last track on your favorite record fades slowly to the sound of a skipping needle
i'm still unsure if i imagined you into existence
or if you only existed in my imagination
either way
i wish you'd have stayed a while longer
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
Sometimes, when I'm trying
To pretend everything's alright,
Though, inside, I'm dying,
Someone sees my inner plight;
"Nigel...Are you crying?"
I manage to hold in the tears,
As if I thought their release,
Would spread the subject of my fears,
That will not leave me in peace.
That's why, when I'm sighing,
I will not confide in you-
When I feel like dying,
I'm afraid you'd feel it too.
"Nigel, please stop crying."
If I stop the pain from spreading,
By keeping it all within,
Then there's not a tear worth shedding.
"Are you crying Mr Finn?"
"No. I am not crying."
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
I arrived
at Janice's grandmother's flat
for the doll's tea party
as I said I would
and Janice took me
into her bedroom
as her gran was in
the sitting room
with two of her elderly friends
talking over cups of tea
Janice showed me
into her room
where there was
a single bed
and a small table
arranged beside it
with two small chairs
in which sat Teddy
a yellowish bear
Golly a red smiling lipped
black doll
and Miss Woolworth
a blonde doll
with curly blonde hair
and blue staring eyes
and a pouty mouth
and a rag doll
with one eye
the other one
empty space
after she had introduced me
to the tea party guests
she showed me
the small stainless tea ***
and six small teacups
and a stainless milk jug
and bowl with a few sugar lumps
do you take sugar?
she asked
I said two and she put
two sugar lumps in a tea cup
and one in hers
and poured the tea
into my cup
and added milk from the jug
she made her own tea
and sat on the bed beside me
then she poured
pretend tea in the cups
of the guests
on the small table
was a plate of small ice cakes
Gran made them for us
Gran's friends have the rest
Janice said
and on another
small plate were four
fingers of KitKat
I sipped the tea
it was weak but warm
in the other room
voices laughed
what's the doll
with one eye called?
I asked
Cyclops
she replied
funny name for a girl doll
I said
don't you remember
Mr Finn saying about
a one-eyed person
the other week?
Janice said
he said it was
a one-eyed savage giant
I replied
o did he?
she said
frowning her forehead
o I see
she said
never mind
I said
it's as good a name
as any
she wasn't convinced
and frowned harder
maybe I ought to call her Grace
Janice said
Grace?
I said
yes I had an aunt
who had one eye called Grace
Janice informed
what was the other eye called?
I said
she laughed out loudly
and then put a hand
over her mouth
and whispered
best not make
too much noise
or Gran will wonder
what we're doing
I sipped more tea
and took one of the iced cakes
we ate the cakes in silence
I gazed at the Golly
smiling at me
then Teddy who sat
with a small
silly smile sewn on
after cakes Janice gave me
a KitKat finger
and we sat
and ate those too
Miss Woolworth hasn't been well
Janice said
o what's wrong with her?
I asked
her left leg
has come loose
and dangles
when you lift her up
Janice said
o dear
I said
giving Janice a stare
she seemed serious
so I didn't smile
there was more laughter
from the women
in the other room
Janice looked at me
and said
glad you could come
and so is Teddy
he likes company
I said
I enjoyed it
and after sipping
the last of the tea
she showed me
her new red beret
and placed it
on her blonde hair
and smiled
then kissed
my cheek
best go
I said
glad other boys
never saw the kiss
or they'd think
I'd gone weak.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
In class Mr Finn
talks about fractions
and denominators
and other stuff
I don't care to know
I see Janice
sitting at her desk
her fair hair
ribboned
and her small hand
and fingers
writing down
what he is saying
I scribble nothing
my page has a few
fractions and numbers
and my pen
drips blue ink
on the page
as I look at her
we went to the bomb site
off Meadow Row
last evening
(not too late
or her gran
will slap her one)
and we talked of Jesus
(or she was)
and how He died
and why none
of the disciples
came to his aid
Mr Finn says
Benny are you
listening to what
I am saying
about fractions?
Yes Sir
I reply
although I haven't
I have not a clue
what did I say
about this fraction?
He points
to the blackboard
I stare at the board
I missed that bit
I say
he sighs and repeats
(for me I guess)
what he has just said
Janice looks at me
she has lovely blue eyes
I smile
she frowns
Mr Finn talks
of improper fractions
and stuff
I study what
he's written
and think
school work
is tough.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
Speechless.
Nothing more to say.
Let these waves take me away.
You smile as I kiss your lips,
I smile as you hold my hips.
A kiss,
A touch,
Nothing more.
Your lips on mine,
They make me soar.
Lets be adventurers,
I'm Finn,
You're Jake.
My love for you will never break.
As the sky's slowly darken,
And the light fades away,
There is one more thing I've got to say.
Goodbye, farewell,
They sound so wrong.
They just don't fit this song.
So goodnight, my love.
I will see you again,
In the morning,
when the waves come in.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
**I
Found
The
Belladonna
In Nana’s bedside drawer
I slipped some in my pocket
To even up a score
Later
He came knocking
With that smirk upon his face
Yet another ****** night of being
Defiled
and
Debased**
*My
Lovely
I
Call
My wicked
Ways are always here
Taking you for granted
Having my way
Because
There is
Nothing
You
Can do*
**I set the scene
In such
An
Alluring
Seductive
Way**
Fool
**Thought I was finally coming out to play
Incense swayed
Candles burned
He drank the drink
Then
Tables turned
Vermillion visions slice through the stagnant air
Cleansing me of
Ignorance
Naivety
Despair**
*She doesn't know
That bottle of wine
That
We
Drink
That her
Glass
Holds
A Cyanide pill
So
This smile
She thinks
Is
For
seduction
Hides
The plans
In
My
Head*
**Something’s not quite right
I have a
Strange sensation
Why am I experiencing
Hell
Fire
&
Damnation
Evil starts to slither on my heated skin
Maybe he just slipped me a ***** Mickey Finn?
Feeling now bedeviled
I take another sip of wine
Bachus sits there laughing
Regal and divine**
*Where did this migraine come from?
But I am here laughing
As she drinks her fall
**** I feel sleepy
Could she have?
No!
She wouldn't be that shrewd
Women can't out think a man
So she smiles with me
Rubbing her eyes
I ask her to dance
It will be her last dance*
**I sense strong arms caress me
Music fills the air
Fluidity of movement
Lays my soul stark bare
I beseech the cold dark eyes of this man that I abhor
As
We
Slowly
Slowly
Slowly
.
.
.
Concertina to the floor**
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 6:25 AM UTC