"flogged" poems
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight
Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants
Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due
Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind
Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry
What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?
Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth
Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels
Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by
Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
Before all of this, even after all of this, I will forever be a patriot.
Before the poet in me matured and I started talking like a parrot,
The dogs of war barked and I climbed exile's fence on my own
And there I have dwelled, with nothing tangible to bring me down.
I have been on this fence so long and I will remain there forever!
Especially since the premature child is still in the incubator.
From this vantage point, I have learned never to trust any politician
I've always looked at them with mistrust, disdain, and suspicion,
Before all of this and before I ran and climbed the exile fence,
I was once mercilessly flogged, dragged and made to dance
By drugged up and coerced child soldiers with a rubber cable
They tied and spread me like a dog on the market table
I watched as innocent people were killed with a rusty knife
There, I vowed to become a fence dweller for the rest of my life!
I've been a patriot all my life but I have done it from here..safer.
From here I have seen blood spilled, hearts broken, hopes dashed,
progresses stalled, mullions embezzled, promises broken, lies told
people changed, games played, party surfed, interests prioritized.
And from this vantage point, I have learned never ever to trust any politician
I have always been right...though I have looked on with disdain, suspicion,
and operated with caution but through it all, I have remained a true patriot and a fence dweller.
.✍️©️✍️IvanBrooksPoetry.✍️©️✍️
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
In the dimly lit chamber, we set the scene.
An owner and his pet, a game of primal and prey.
She kneels like an eager dog, a collar around her neck.
He stomps his feet and keeps her obedience at play.
The owner, like a magician, keeps tricks up his sleeve.
He wants his pet to learn— to be his student and please.
Commanding her to crawl, to fetch and beg.
Waiting for him to call her a good little pet.
She barks and whimpers, a puppy in passion.
Spins three times and licks her master’s feet without a whine.
The pet surrenders to her master’s might.
She delivers his sturdy leather boots in a straight line.
With a flick of the whip, the pet curls in elation.
Her master chuckles at her sounds of temptation.
Submitting to the cynicism of ******* and discipline.
She is flogged like a plebeian, forgetting she’s a citizen.
Pet and master, a bond so strong.
The two are bound by zeal, craving one another.
She wallows in the comfort of her belly rubs and treats.
And runs around with a rush of red in color.
She goes through treacherous training.
And yelps if she’s ever caught complaining.
Waiting for a tasteful gift: the eternity collar.
When she is ready, he puts it on with honor.
Jun 16, 2024
Jun 16, 2024 at 6:25 PM UTC
(for Nietzche, who cowers behind art.)
The world calls the conquered ******
to remember that the sun every night yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
when there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing.
Yet still it yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise.
The world called Canaanites ******
while they traded and toiled along the shores
of land promised to the aged heretic of Sumer,
whose wife could give only love.
The world called Hebrews ******
while they raised Pharoah tombs
Provided respite from the eastern chariots
Stubborn in refusal of the living gods
Drinking only Eloheim's bitter grape
That provides brief respite from his decrees
When delving deep in one's cups.
The world called Britons ******
When flogged Boudicea fought and fought and finally fell
To Roman spear and gladius
When Angles and Saxons raided then stayed
When Cromwell climbed the pale cliffs
The world called the Iberians, Gauls and Teutons ******
when Caesar crossed the Rubicon
Pax Romana for Citizens born
Land for the wealthy, voting rights too
Taxes and tithes from their toil.
The world called the Khoikhoi of South Africa ******
From the VOC to fatal Apartheid
Up rose a man
The heart of the land
A man named Nelson Mandela.
The world called the Viet Minh ******
from Can Vong to Dien Bien Phu
'till they slogged howitzers above
to reign Napoleonic terror below.
And to them it was just
The American War
After the world called them
Vietnamese.
The world calls the conquered ******
to remember that the sun every day yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
When there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing
yet still it yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
'though it never watches its own rising
undoing raiment of fading embers
swimming naked in the royal blue
bathing all with daily newborn naked glory
chasing the celestial tidal tease
that seems to wander where it please
reminding that all are born free
but can grow into ignorance
and be called ******
Seek truths
that hold in unity;
that provide nourishment
beneath the lash
allowing one
to rise, to rise, to rise.
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 9:01 AM UTC
Arrrh, here we be again
at "Talk like a Pirate day"
we'll spew our gaffs and have some laughs
slappin wenches bums, while we're at play
We'll have some grog
mockin the captain's log
reading lines of sea bound times
and cabin boys, he's flogged
When the eve be ov'r
and drunken we'll awake
it's out to sea, we'll all be
nursing our headache
Our love for wenches stowed
miseries bandon'd in the hold
mainsail's set, we'll not ferget
we be pirates, young and old
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC
On the African savannah,
The mission brief had been simple.
Go in and find a Warthog.
The Americans had gone in and nuked the place,
Then claimed there had been none to begin with.
The Israelis against strong,
Local advice,
Had sent in Mossad,
Undercover.
-why go in, looking like food,
the lions had a field day-
The Africans, however,
Had not reported by nightfall,
So at daybreak a search party was launched.
They found three Kenyans surrounding a giraffe,
Spread-eagled securely to an Acacia tree.
The Sergeant-at-arms was taking notes,
Whilst his Officers flogged,
The poor thing screaming,
“Confess you’re a Warthog, confess!”
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 2:42 AM UTC
Shoppin wiv Albert.
I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.
He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
Love is a whip
and life but
a flogged target
plump cheeks rosy with
regret
Anticipation
and defiance.
fate is the grease-
and the fire
And we are feeble
wicks
thus, as the candle flame
falters and spits-
I grow afraid.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
Hi . . . This is about the kinds of people who work in corporate big money office buildings . . . Imagine them at lunchtime, how they interact and picture the scene in any . . .
Busy little bistro
Sharp - sharks - circle - the - pack
Pinstripe finned and eager
Snapping their snacks back with ease
Points to prove with nothing to lose
No cracks in their creases
They're keen to return to the fray.
These boys play with girls
Aren't yet uncles with nieces
Just unproven throwaway pieces . . .
In shiny . eat ***** . suited up . Chelsea boots
Bidding for ***** with cute looks and loot
Touting with confident ***** . . .
As mobile as their smart devices
Loose
Next . . . ?
And fresh from a mornings abuse
And fifteen years of fear . .
Beleaguered older shirts sit . .
Flogged dogs with weak barks
Parked packed into packs.
Tongue tied ties tied together
Safety is numbers
Get each others backs
These partially satisfied cats
Know today is NOT their day . .
That was yesterday . . .
Obliging lives and mortgages
The reasons why they stay
Passing Cabs cruise . . .
Seen it all before.
Sat in the back a high class *****
Glazed eyes glancing away
From her play-away payday
Nibbles in the boardroom . .
Napkins . . for the dribbles
A working lunch for this Girl
Her money-shot a wrap without applause
Was just a . . . pause . . . between paws . .
Then Dora on reception
John, who minds the door
Evie in the IT room
Or dave . . who buffs the Marble
Sparkles glinting in the floor . .
And the guards . . who guard . . what exactly . . ?
All of this . . ? Networking . . !!!
Everybody's selling something
It doesn't quite stink
But it definitely smells
A little high
As time whiles by
Seems this
Is the state of our nation
And in this state
Defines our aspirations
And yes . . this state's a splinter
Taunting my imagination . . .
Do I stake my place within this game
Or sit in observation
Commentating on a race
Where human nature fakes it's place
Where people sit as players
Yet no one wears their own face
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
A POLICE MAN CAN DO ANYTHING
Why compromised are the police men?
From all over the world, policemen are sellouts,
Policemen arrested Jesus Christ and flogged him,
Others tortured Galileo Galilai for intellectual cross purpose,
Some of them vandalized Martin Luther King, and his wife,
As they also put Fidel Castro on the tilted trial,
The same are the ones that arrested Mahatma Gandhi
In the same tandem of Colonel Afrifa organizing a coup
To effect putsch against Kwameh Nkrumah, or Mandela to Robben gulag,
They tortured Rubia and Matiba in Kenya down the abyss of mental breakdown,
They kicked in the teeth Abdulla Abdalladiff at Kamiti prison
Then they ran off for a decade to effect the ****** of Robert Ouko,
Their evil tendency was never quenched until
They abducted the County parliament speaker
Of Maembe hamlet in the Nyake Kingdom of potato eaters
And held him in the spine chilling captivity for days and days
Only to release him when he sufficed to stay in dumb freedom.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:11 AM UTC
*I'm a firm believer in the sixth sense of animals and their ability to portend the future 'sometimes' . Many cases exist , farm animals included , of strange occurrences just before an Earthquake , Tornado or Hailstorm !
Animals have the ability to pick up emotional signals from human beings as well ! We had a quarter horse that could pick up fear , a dog that would hide under the bed an hour before a hailstorm , and a pet pig that would squeal and hide from someone it didn't recognize ! Then again I had a Rooster once , that picked up on my depressed state of mind an flogged me good with its razor sharp spurs one afternoon ! I questioned his ability to see the future later on that evening as I rocked on the front porch and picked out his barbecued remains with a wood tooth pick and a cup of hot tea* !
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
Master, this was said to me
should I be triggered or flogged?
Think Sisyphus happy.
What year is this?
Babble, babble, all around me, no
God, not this, again.
It's all in yer head, keep rollin' the rock.
keepin time, makin rime rimey rime
frees icicles on my beard
if you could see me now,
Hell, who imagined this?
I am Sisyphus happy and Sysifus sad,
now for as long as I care to recall
I roll the rock.
It was the hell I had envisioned, since
Camus at least, probably something triggered,
seventh grade, oh
cliché, except
the details, the evil, as seen in the thirteenth
year of an unwombed man's journey, womb to tomb.
I rolled the rock.
Alone as all hell, bored as hell.
food and drink, folly to think
so I stop thinking about them
as if someone thinks I can and I think I can.
Let's doit
daydream cliché, same seventh grader asks
Diane Wescott if he can kiss her
under the water
at the deep end of the public pool
Like Tarzan and Jane and she said yes,
again and again and again
like the expert's rats that are allowed
to suicide on big pharma grade *******
Wahoo, that got the rock rollin'
like I never thought she would now
yah, Jah, know what I mean,
Billie Jean, the kid coulda been mine
But I was rockin' and rollin' all night long,
notime, noo time ah tahlllll
Some minds may imagine Sisyphus happy,
but up to not too long
ago
I fail, failed am failing to re
call member hotline
now,
Matrix Wachowskie, bact to your box,
I am haunted by that movie, in 2018
keyphrase 2018 trigger Matrix movie 1
not the movie, the idea of endless bullets.
Who imagined that,
Hell, this is easy. Right, two persona one person sort of
story, no, too, Jekyl n Heckle
I can think any thing as long
as I roll the rock. This will go on forever,
as far as I can tell.
Rock and roll will live forever, let's take that
as a given, and just ignor the steady
up and down, resistance to punching down force goes up and release,
the rock rolls as far as Luck would have it, statically, probably
pause. breathe, read
The rhythm varies, I'm in forever, not in hell.
Push.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 7:16 PM UTC
Nailed and ******* on hands and legs,
Maimed and marred beyond repair,
Cut and bruised out of shape,
Stripped and peeled, so bare to shock,
Lo, there lies a man! The Son of God,
On a cross erected on the summit of the Mount,
Brutally suspended between Earth and Sky,
Stationed amid thieves on either side.
He slipped and slithered under the yoke of weight,
And tottered the rugged route to Calvary,
Scourged and flogged all along,
He bore the cross with none to help.
Never complained nor cursed but suffered the pangs,
Never whined nor moaned, but drained the cup,
Through His death, mankind was to be redeemed,
By His precious blood, their infirmities to be cleansed
It was for our sins that He lay down His life,
It was our misdeeds that made Him bleed,
It was for our lust that He was painfully stripped,
It was our arrogance that bent Him low.
None could gauge the agony he endured,
No man ever performed such a daring deed,
To liberate mankind, the Lamb was slain,
To lead his Flock, He walked in front.
‘Love your enemy’ was the mantra He recited,
What He preached, He relentlessly practised,
While writhing in pain, He prayed for His foes,
Pleaded with his Father to spare the wrath.
When wrongly accused, never said He a word,
Unruffled remained He on painfully betrayed,
Hard it was to be deserted by those He loved,
Sore it was to be treated so very rude.
The Son of Man came seeking the missing sheep,
He builds from where everything is wrecked,
Rejoice in Him, for He is our Lord!
Adore and worship, He deserves to be praised.
Peace was what He promised the world,
Grace was what He gifted to all,
Look up to the Cross when trials confront,
And cast your burden at His feet!
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC
There has been darkness in my heart manifesting depression through my thoughts and its spreading like cancer to every part of me.
Transmitting shocks through my brain like my blood is the apex of an iceberg cutting out my joy.
For some reason I felt the need to pass out of earth.
The most dangerous thing about depression loneliness because you think no one understands you.
So then you suppress it. Burying under smiles that no one can detect it. Because you don’t want people to think you’re weak so you smile like a mime clown when you’re not really happy but your heart is playing the part of happiness when your heart is the ‘’dark night’’.
You cannot hide your true feelings trying to encourage broken people when your heart isn’t bailed for liberty.
You eat until you dry up the voices of weeping and mourning underneath your loneliness and you gain calories in your heart on the fact that you lack self-worth. Then it becomes so much easy to die then to live with your brokenness.
I know how it feels to feel like an outcast when the only option you have is playing chords with your fingers underneath your thighs.
I know how it feels to love genuinely but have in return a package of hatred.
I know how it feels to think about suicide more than to think about Jesus. Being scared to talk about your weakness because you’ll be tagged for backslidings.
I know how it feels to sing beyonce’s ‘’save the hero’’ to yourself even though it’s a secular song because you’re trying to re-boot your spirit telling yourself you’re a hero.
I know how it feels to feel hopeless that even life doesn’t smell good in your spirit.
I know it hurts to the bone!!
Jesus was flogged with whips, His flesh was ripped apart and exposed,the disgusting flames of people He was about to sacrifice His life for, was all over His wounded body just to take away this feeling of depression. This is why He said it is finished! If God made Jesus conquer death, what makes you think He can’t help you conquer life?!!
Therefore, I will boast in my weakness because His power is made perfect in my weakness.
I will play with my fingers the keys of my heart on the piano.
Eject the thoughts of negativity and press on the victory because the race is not to the swift but he that endures even in depression to the end.
Priscilla Adams(AraSoul)
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
Call myself a Christian,
what the ****** hell!
If Azrael was to get up close,
Then to God He'd run and tell.
"Father, goodness check this one,
something is wrong and needs to be done!
He wears red nail varnish and sings to the dead,
with powerful women alluring his head!
Death Metal songs, Pagan best friend,
flippant poems, the list won't end.
The lost soul should be flogged and hung,
he listens to Camel and Neil Young!
I caught him missing church last week,
his doubts are strong and will is weak.
His other best friend is an Angel he says,
he's seen Her pure light, the love in her gaze
And then there's the spirits, the circles the mirror,
and he says it all works, oh my what a horror!
Just to love Jesus is never enough,
can't tolerate all of his poetry stuff.
Won't you send him a plague, or a bolt from the blue?
There must be some kind of way to get through!"
The Good Lord will pause, says"Azrael you pratt!
It's only Jeremiah, the skinny welsh ****
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 12:16 PM UTC
When all else
has been
flogged by time,
beaten by uncertainty
and consumed
by the earth...
All that’s left...
Is the salt
disowned by
indulgent cascades.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 9:06 PM UTC
Poet daubed the corporal on the wings of carney
Wanderer dilettante soul lusted au wild routes
Counted each the millimiles covered
Upside , unstrained , Unflaggingly.
Yon the valleys , epitome meadows and Hillsides
Beated around the alcoves amok
Ridges passed the marooned trails
Agape the flinged self flew spirited madrigals
Slowly rooted the tints into wilderness
True entity got superimposed to sylvan instincts
The obsolute shadow rigged the shooner
By dimension lengthier the time but shorter by grace
Grazed through and some toxic airs exhaled then pulled
Blinked all the roof to rugs
Remembrance of concrete boxes and intimate sidekicks
Cheap conflict wins to hit the ring
If body wins wanderlust looses thereby path ends
Simultaneous call by consciousness and objection by eternal shadow
Only the body grazed the maps with pointers
Though insatiably leveed
Kept retention the coursing shadow
Yet remained damp , savaged the sylvan traits
Life was near but the abstainer failed
Wilderness abysm rejected the unfortunate physique
There appeared
Scorched canopies along wilted flora
Container flogged the shadow to a stultifying death
Physique deceived self the core truth
Existence thereafter without knowing the chance with eterna
Several followed the imperishable conflict trail
Roll of honour diminished by fourth dimension
Marked victories of featherbrains over pappus chambers
Only few sticked upto xanthic flowers
Raise up , were the victories thristled down?
Many knocked and still keep on knocking incarnations
Fine array of fossilized saturnine inhibitions
Callous attritions over altruism of succinct shadows
Flip sorties pariance spurts
"The stanchion to revet my sky" voiced the shadow
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
I met my uncle Albert
down at asda, in aisle three;
he got there in his mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed sainsburys,
tesco liddle n the spar,
but not one o' them flogged caviar
truffles or foie Gras.
He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
He shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 12:04 PM UTC
ｐｌｅａｓｕｒｅ
ａｓ
ｐａｉｎ
he told his partners
unwitting souls
commanded by his
physical
beauty
strong
self assured
manner
unwillingness 2 accept
anything but compliance
acquiescence
compelling
in his self assurance
many were led into his lair
gullible
some to escape
never the being they’d been
some
attempting
to flee
flogged into further submission
and eternal darkness
pleasure as pain
he told them
the once innocents
© 2017
rf
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 9:03 PM UTC
A Pox ! a Pox !
upon the man
that flogged my wife
this camper van,
and told her please don't
worry dear
that damp patch here
is nothing queer,
it's merely steam
and condensate
that's dripping on your
empty pate...
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
Poet daubed the corporal on the wings of carney
Wanderer dilettante soul lusted wild routes
Counted each the millimiles covered
Upside , unstrained , Unflaggingly.
Yon the valleys , epitome meadows and Hillsides
Beated around the alcoves amok
Ridges passed the marooned trails
Agape the flinged self flew spirited madrigals
Slowly rooted the tints into wilderness
True entity got superimposed to sylvan instincts
The obsolute shadow rigged the shooner
By dimension lengthier the time but shorter by grace
Grazed through and some toxic airs exhaled then pulled
Blinked all the roof to rugs
Remembrance of concrete boxes and intimate sidekicks
Cheap conflict wins to hit the ring
If body wins, wanderlust looses thereby path ends
Simultaneous call by consciousness and objection by eternal shadow
Only the body grazed the maps with pointers
Though insatiably leveed
Kept retention the coursing shadow
Yet remained damp , savaged the sylvan traits
Life was near but the abstainer failed
Wilderness abysm rejected the unfortunate physique
There appeared
Scorched canopies along wilted flora
Container flogged the shadow to a stultifying death
Physique deceived self the core truth
Existence thereafter without knowing the chance with eterna
Several followed the imperishable conflict trail
Roll of honour diminished by fourth dimension
Marked victories of featherbrains over pappus chambers
Only few sticked upto xanthic flowers
Raise up , were the victories thristled down?
Many knocked and still keep on knocking incarnations
Fine array of fossilized saturnine inhibitions
Callous attritions over altruism of succinct shadow
Flip sorties pariance spurts
"The stanchion to revet my sky" voiced the shadow
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 3:31 AM UTC
This is Tina, she's my kid sister.
Over there is Joseph and Paul, they are twin siblings, our next door neighbors.
Next to them is Christy, blush she lives two streets down the street.
We are playing WHOT in my house.
Yes, Whot.
It's a card game that most parents won't let their kids play;
My dad included
But he is at work at the moment.
Dad is very strict.
Whenever he is home,
My friends aren't allowed to come over unless we are going to study, and under his supervision.
Suddenly we hear his car honking at the gate,
There's panic and turmoil in the living room.
Whot cards are flying around and empty Oreos packs are being thrown into the trash bag.
Empty juice cups are being taken to be washed in the kitchen.
There's an avalanche in here and the result is orderliness.
By the time dad steps in,
We're all settled around the study table,"reading."
Oh God, no!
There's the 20 Whot card on the table.
Dad has seen it and he is coming over.
He has a scowl on his face and I know that look; we're all getting a good beating.
The last time we were flogged, Tina wet herself.
Dad comes over, he looks at each one of us,
Then in his deep, baritone voice, he asks:
"Have you eaten?"
My shoulders sag,
I am defeated.
Today cant be April fool's day.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 5:36 AM UTC
The shades, They twirl through,
Like a snapped limb,
Over the sun and valleys,
Fish singing, like flogged drifting tears,
Suddenly collapsed along the floor,
Groping regretful,
A light and refugee of who, what,
Or when
Nothing
Inside
Something
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
I used to have a book, books,
that I scribbled in furiously
at work, at traffic lights
in the morning and at night
after I went to bed, I'd get up again
and bled upon a page
I'd be halfway through a shower
and I'd rush through top and toe
just to drip upon the page
so the feelings would not go away
now
I write mine freehand, in the dark
after my world has gone to sleep
I take another drink
and become part of all of me
I used to think carefully
about each syllable,
each carefully constructed line
but there is no time, no time left
for me to care what falls from my brain
I read everyday, every word said
I collect emotions of others wounds
and store them as prizes in my head
I love everyone you do, or, did
and I hate them for how they treated you
or, I did, until you forgave them
or, killed them in memory or,
flogged yourself stupid for their mistakes
I get it, you write what I've lived
I draw on memories that aren't mine
Emotions I've never allowed to cut deep
Promises that were left unspoken
and crossroads where we would never meet
Hence the darkness needed to write
because I'm afraid of the shadows
that seem to hide in the light
In the dark I can pretend to be alone
Just my drink, and my dog
which occasionally likes to sit on me
and I can pretend I mean something
to just anyone, kissing emotional lips
with a passion of memories
I don't seem to own
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 5:20 AM UTC