"foreshadow" poems
The air is perfumed with fresh rosemary's
And the wild springs with lush berries
Their presence colours the nursery with a sweet loom
It bleeds into the forecast for tomorrow's gloom
Nostalgia hits hard, heartbreaking and eerie
For a day when I wasn't paranoid and weary
Well, I'll be down by the Brighton pier
Watching birds float past in lonely fear
I'd love to turn away
The pristine sun shines like Hades
The outside scent is yellow, maybe
Little daises laugh in the foreground
Gardens sow a loving sound
Once I could see hope in the trees
And the love that whispered on the breeze
Now the trees foreshadow longing
And the gale howls with wronging
I'd love to turn away
The intimacy in my yellow tinted flowers seems to have faded
And the soft orchards have been invaded
My words burnt in a smouldering pile of dust
And steaming with the heat of my lust
I told a crowd I had something to say
But the people turned away
away
away...
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
Skeleton bones in the closet, no, not I, I got live bodies locked in chains. In the spirit of Halloween, I'll wear a hockey mask and be that obsessed killer. Teenage kicks, listen close for the screams. ****** from neglect, ****** because of reject, ****** brought on by me always feeling depressed. You called me names, you tortured my spirit, you ****** me like the idols you worship. I've worsen since i started feeding on your hate. This is my manifesto. Are you scared? You should be. Because I won't take the ranting rambling bigotry you speak. This will be something straight out of a horror scene. The plot thickens, foreshadow what's next. If you think this story is fiction well it's not because we live in a cold world and I'm only giving you a description, a depiction of what words can do, I use mine for assistance, I learned to listen, I hope you do too, because you can create a monster with the powerful words you decide to use.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
Its been a while, since I, seen that smile; that **** style, that turn me on, you're such a trip. I love how you keep it hip; ******* my favorite color- your Thursday pick. From your text, you seem stressed, might have to do it a little longer. Been working out, so I'm a little bit stronger- hold your legs back, shoulder press:I hope I'm making you wonder. Hands, coiled around your legs; up. Under your dress, hands slowly progress- it hurts now, the seconds seem longer; you feel blessed. You slipped, so I slide in; like it was meant to happen.
My hand griping your hips, pulling you in, a tight fit: harder- already told you I was stronger, now your feeling it. So professional when you came; now you leaving a mess. I flipped the script.
Black ******* with white spots all over your dress- blaming me for your mess. Now I'm cumming; ready or not. Your *** up, stomach in knots, my kingdom *** our foreplay, can foreshadow my plot- give you a life sentence, that will make ****** on the dot. All our issues, disappear; like you're straight flush- red all in the face; light touch: 2 ours later; such a rush.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
I miss him so much
I feel it in my bones
as they bend and break
Like a bullet
ripping through my skin
I felt the emptiness
make my body its home
I spent 4 months
trying to throw up the remains of you
left inside of me
My hands cold
trembling with the weight of memories
My eyes weary
spilling my final regrets
You brought me roses
but forgot to remove the thorns
and I didn't realize until now
that it was a foreshadow of
this
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
If I could write the days into a memory i could forget....
than i could foreshadow the future I havent seen yet....
Id scribble down the worst of my life... But always sign the best...
Put my heart onto the paper and keep it out of my chest.....
But a stationary hero isnt the answer for my worded crimes....
Like the emotion cannot be beautiful grammar or rhymes......
A Fragile label cannot be placed on the package i deliver....
The damage is real like my poisoned liver....
I declare a proclamation of Houston we have a Problem....
I know my problems.... Words they wont solve them....
So Scribbled shaky pen stains on bar napkins became my bible.....
The pain was a memory not a selfish revival.....
If you can see yourself within my written pain.....
All I mean to say is " I wish I could See you Once Again"......
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 3:15 AM UTC
They called me a pessimist
And I guess I am
I mean it's true
But it's not my fault that the autumn days are dark
Whispering harshly in the night
Ripping leaves off of trees
Leaving them limp and bare to survive winter
The little winds foreshadow the coming brutal storms
That leave us cold in terror
But the breeze is so powerful
It numbs my skin like a drug
Keeps my blood rushing, wanting more
And my eyes are pleased to see the rainfall of the leaves
From branches of clouds
So beautiful
Then comes the holidays and cremed cocoas
The laughter and the dazzling crisp snow
One true pessimist
They call me but I'll go with it and let it go
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
He looked fine. Fine with a y. Fyyyyne
However another guy had the best style, he could mismatch and make it fit.
Then again no man had abs like him, it was a canvas I longed to....
I will never forget the other guys eyes, his hazel eyes spoke to me.
How couldn't I mention the manly stance, broad shoulders, large hands man.
But honestly, I never saw beauty till I met blank.
Blank is kind, the kind that gives and expects nothing, for he
simply wants to see joy in me.
Blank is confident in himself, in a way that needs to prove nothing because he humble by nature
Blank is rational yet irrational in a way that strives and hopes.
Blank is funny, uplifting, ****
Blank teaches me about myself, he makes me better.
I've never seen one as beautiful internally, which it illuminates externally.
Hopefully I meet blank.
_______, I love you.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
We sit in silence,
backs crooked,
the couches' cushions caving in.
The weight of passing hours
and minuettes alleviating thinking
in a miscellaneous metronome
ticking to bring time to a heaving chest.
Stay calm,
the pain of realignment will pass.
Burdensome they may be,
burgeoning wings will free you of...
Pressure collapsing this cage,
walls torn from studs,
leaving only this skeleton
surrounding us as we find delirium
the backbone of convulsing lungs watched,
earthquake mute laughter marring the faces
with jagged faults.
The cost of cracking,
we must accept the scarring permanent.
Breaks unplanned infirmities,
alone, our time line disrupted itself
and the heavens came,
tumbling down.
In silence,
we lay, arms barring
our escaping words.
Eyes overstep boundaries,
slipping through the gaps,
a second moment of
clarification fractures restraints
whilst beguiling brainstorms
sparked our interest.
Our tongues meet,
shyly.
rubies placed upon your breath
slipping against molded clay.
In sapphires
you and I hold nighttime
reflections of passion
contained in coal, waiting.
Ivory runs my length,
bending to ecstasy, breathing
shallow, asynchronous, failing
to find it's end in persistence.
In night
the danger dropped us, longing
that dusty light beaming down on
the show, Act 2 is
the comedy. Off.
Parallel parabola line diamond reflections,
allow for recall with brushed fingertips,
horse hair undertones realigning smiles,
abstract the paintings of today,
of yesterday, stealing away tomorrow
in a previous reiteration of our variant
indifference.
The wings of the demon opened
in symbolic solace, fell far
across this burning emotional
harbor, aflame
in angels' suicides.
We've fallen, taken knees to grace,
whispering eulogies the waves applaud.
Sands wash away to cupped stone
palms, caressing the troubled banks lost
in time. The blood washes away,
momentary marks, brown,
stained, it passes.
Demons foreshadow.
In their shade we are seen
falling into broken arms, sinew
stitched through hearts, still healing
strength gives way.
Our tongues meet
shyly,
this reunion a mistake,
now locked, staying stilled while
attempting apologetic phrasing.
We sit in silence,
backs crooked,
blank walls and barren recounts
crashing in.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
Time’s ominous perpetual precipice looms,
Darkly beckoning with gilded motives.
The student’s curse worming insidiously throughout the best intentions
The enemy’s ticking fingers foreshadow their fate,
But like blinded deer, we frolic obliviously,
Blissfully remiss in our duty as the forgiven.
Twilight nears, but we are still frozen in the sun.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
I waste my time while I work
I waste my time while I play
I waste my time while I sleep
I waste my time while awake
I intend to die without...
To die without honor
To die without dignity
To die without valor
To die without sanity
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 2:50 PM UTC
We watch the perpetual war in the sky
The vivid colors of the gods
Bleeding before the mountains
A sultry foreshadow of nightfalls' catastrophe
He waits for the Suns' demise
Under the Gemini Moon
My Twin Legs split open
Wolves echo in synchronicities of
Madness
In the morning I call for Zeus
God of Thunder
Crack the earth open
Let my lovers fall to the underworld of your brothers
Wash the scents of greed from my hair
And the hyrogliphic bite marks from my thighs
Or bare my soul to wind
Starvation and feast
It all tastes like love
under the Yellowstone moon.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
An effusive elaborate scheme the colors advance to bright spellbinding allure then they achieve
Depth of quality by cutting back to softer hues and then the natural dark green is the bold
Touch that succeeds with total symmetry showcased in a view perfected by glass the prism
Most fitting not only to see but to be captivated by perfected expression it is a metaphor for life
The master designer chooses his subjects well one infuses another then by degree others
Foreshadow and glorify it blends tangible and intangible into intelligent coherent order tasteful
And sublime the hint and the elusive wonder all is needed is the wind to bow and ****** it into
A profusion a veritable concert that stirs with appeal life is in motion the players advance and
Retreat each speaking lines unique to themselves what sensations speak tendrils on a garden
Trellis held and fixed a gesture that plays and portrays intricate details the mystery that plays so
Well the stealing of morning frost then the blaze and then restful dying rays that spell comfort
The field rolls and contorts this brandishes excitement exuberance veers and plunders life
Become exploration trails hidden thickets hide and hold expression that is pent up ready to
Explode what vesture we wear it grips our friend’s astonishment is read on their faces but it is
Like a house of many mirrors because their lives are having the same effect on you some days
Are uneventful others are storm tossed with grandness the riches of an all contained realm
Spasms convulse like waves of the sea we stand forth to puzzle and dream what does it all
Mean the sanctity reveals plumes that are invisible that are far reaching and they have given us
This course of endurance that belies longing we grow soft and an inner glowing surpasses the
Stringent the misfit that moans against conforming we are treasure that exceeds all expectation
Life is rich we are its brightest colors and light night is for brooding the day is for shinning and
Divulging the secrets found in the brooding time we accost others we signify to them not only
Our own worth but there’s also fetching is the spray that magnifies the sky we are the bursting
We are the aliveness that is found each day in our lives that is the dooryard of discovery
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
Fascist fascist
Fascinating
Liberating or degrading
Hangs from single strings
Nothing comes and no one sings
No one laughs and nothing breaks
See the cracks drip down my face
Fascist fascist
Fascinating
Fascinating fascist face
Flash-forward foreshadow
White cold lace
Not as durable as we first thought
But the car is packed
In the parking lot
I light the cigarettes we bought
And now there is no going back
Not back to there
Nor back to that
Not back to night
Nor back to day
Nor back to summers
Far away
Fascist fascist
Fascinating
Forget my fascist family tree
The fascist fascist memory
And moustache moustache damaging
Or fresco firefly reverie
Just tell me that I’m yours
Sign the line
Like you have before
This is where we are right now
Two souls alive
In the empty town
Two souls alive
In the ********* ghost god-empty town.
So, What think you of Whitman?
And what say I of Plath?
I understand all but maybe half
On my greatest finest day
(dearest, how’d we get this way?)
How’d we fall so far from grace?
How’d this canyon split my face?
Maybe it’s the trace trace amounts of fascist.
Fascist fascist
Fascinating
Friday fickle convocating
Tragic talent intubating
All the world smiles, undulating
But in the end
You’re still a fascist.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
Everything is happening so quickly
so many negatives surpassing the
insignificant glimpse of positives
that never seem to suffice,
there’s always this light at the
end of the tunnel that everyone
speaks of, yet i continue to see darkness;
a journey down this long tunnel brings
no illumination but only a continuance
of nihility, the damp walls
seem to bring the chill humidity
closer and closer with each step,
the droplets echo the narrowing,
flickering lights dissipate at passing,
the gag sparking stench of sewage
and ***** make the voyage to
light even more unbearable than the
previous hesitant inching towards
the so called spoken about bearability of life,
sudden scintillations of light bring sight
of russet, worn doors, consecutively placed,
discoloured of crimson roadkill,
I open the first door and see a woman
tied and bound, gag in throat,
beads of sweat turning the white gag
to watered milk,
the dirt beneath her nails entwines with skin
and blood dredged by her own fingertips,
to front is a tray of what seems like
torture tools
*intrigued, I slam the door
and avoid a kiss
from Judas*
The next door, I open and see a man
sitting facing the corner,
wrapped in a flickering fan,
staring at a wall of carvings of ticks and dashes,
to see arms of cuts and gashes,
with a tray next to him
comprised of razors and knives
he sits picking at skin of bruises and hives,
tempted to grab the tool and corrode self,
with the reflection of whats within, I slam the door
and avoid
Finally the third door
eagerly stares to
me with anticipation boiling veins,
I press my ear to foreshadow,
I hear a cries; a man of hatred
and a woman of pain
I open the door and find a bottle of whiskey
I take a swig and feel as if Judas kissed me,
Within the third door; walls
with peepholes to confirm the calls
on the left I see the sliding knife
over-panting roadmaps of russet to
the neck of the bound woman,
the screams are deafening,
they present a vibration,
stuttering thoughts, and releasing the fixation,
prompting the admiration
to view the second door,
I see myself, in door 2
tremors and convulsions
seeing blood expel every vein
as the verticals
halt oxygen to the brain
Departure brings me
to the abysmal realm of society
where the burden of negativity
proves to provide no proof towards what
differs between the endless, narrow
tunnel-visioned cesspool of bone marrow
and psychosis driven visions and the
narrow pathed voyage of life.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
Her smile held my hand
As I led her up the grand staircase
She pulled on her pleats
And carefully took her place
To be gazed upon and worshipped
Buttressed by my approval
A saint of ****** desire
She could not foreshadow her removal
As the glow of my delusion shines
She is unaware
Assuming her immortality
Cloaked by the intensity of my stare
Unspoken words are felt
She believes she has been pardoned
Mere beauty enough
For her heart had softened
Soon she paces
Back and forth in her discomfort
As for a moment
She lost her golden support
I dared avert my eye
To live if only for a moment
Alone and in control
Yet it only caused her torment
Her angelic eyes turned red
Her ***** sighed
Suddenly she realized
Her subject had lied
It was not eternal love
Or forgiving grace
Instead it was seduction
In his hands he held lace
As long as she was pretty
And demure in his presence
She could live on as a goddess
While faking its essence
What happened?
How did she lose control?
Assuming her power
She failed to see what he stole
Yes the princess
Has given her virtue
To an artful lover
Who pretended to be true
Her mistake
Was failing to heed his writ
Don't mistake my kindness
For weakness of the spirit
My power to love
Can be removed at will
As long as you are worthy
It will remain still
Spoiled by her parade
The queen commands
Her subject turns away
And begins making plans
Removing the grand staircase
He prefers an indelicate fall
The music has stopped
It is the end of the ball
Shocked to be so discarded
Once prized now yesterday's refuse
Devastated by her turning fate
She lives as a recluse
The Monarch
Sheds it's wings
Crawling back to her cocoon
Solitude the sadness to which she clings
The gaze is empty
He rises from his knee
Turning to another
She hears his heart plea
Take my hand
And mount my pedestal
Let me worship you
He smiles as she becomes ornamental
Another glass to break
Another jewel to steal
His passion unending
As the conquest is greater than what he feels
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 10:43 PM UTC
Ive watched you weap
Bemoan in subtlety, without reason
Attempt to give light on an obsidian subject
Ive seen you bicker and cross swords
A struggle felt for miles
Have our confrontations meant nothing to you
Does venom foreshadow death
Ive seen you pass away
Day by day, its all the same
But am I the mad one?
Questioned by clans
When all I see is taunt discourse as if we're docking on long suppressed dreams
If it had been somewhere else, we'd hide a fixed eye to the occasion
Load the cartridge
Pull the trigger
Ignite cannons
**** the innocence
Have we lost our minds
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
My life is well documented
on thin strips of paper
usually thrown in a trash bin.
My attachments
are well preserved
in a thin sheet of ice
covering an overflowing trash bin.
So when its time for taxes
I thaw out the bin
and re-record the trail
of 20's and 40's
60's and 80's
pulled from my account of time been in passing
I shake my head and laugh
at the time I spent trying to change the end
to Tuck Everlasting
Knowing now that when you tucked me in
it was to say goodnight,
not good-morning.
A foreshadow that you would be passing
and I would be lasting.
I've crunched the numbers
made the deductions
and came out with a lengthy profit.
Thanks to the money I've invested
in being possessed,
with the best
intentions,
paying attention to you
So when I file my W-2's,
I can do them with a smile knowing
I never wasted a dime on you.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 3:06 AM UTC
open wide, take the barrel, caress the lips
let the trigger be something
thats figured afterwards
as one thing held by
the stress of life,
let the burden of breathing
take the wind and dwindle
the passion you have left
to rekindle your passion to live
reloading the rifle
reviving every spiteful
feeling edging you closer to
the side of the high rise
in malevolence disregarding
the benevolence of why
you’re still sitting here
reading this; ignorance to bliss
let the goodwill of life foreshadow
that every stroke brings deep to shallow
letting life take the noose and tighten
until you loosen and righten
every wrong
let life bring your cuts to a heal
so that you know every human can feel
a pain get better and watch the weather
go from dark skies to milky clouds dripping light
and have the poor weep then sing together
so let life strife your feelings of self
so that you hear the whisper from
the storm pass,
and open your eyes,
don’t let the precedent of today
dictate the incident of
a familiar tangent
because with every feeling of pain
is followed by compassion of
the morrow
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
Young, you watch the wheels, mama's car reflects the sky.
Turning, shifts the scene across the glass as she drives by.
Good-bye for now, good-bye until the dusk begins to crack.
Hello is payment for the night to ransom her hugs back.
Young, the wheels are slowly turning on a new red trike.
Older now, two wheels race beneath a brand new bike.
Two and three wheels' independence foreshadow what's in store.
The freedom found in two wheels, three, compared to that in four.
Drive away, the day was always waiting in my heart.
You drive away, this is the task I took on from the start.
That once you knew enough to really take care of it all,
To seek the challenge of the world, to fly, and hurt, to fall.
To measure all the joy and pain, the cost from what was free,
I hold you close, but teach you how
to drive away from me.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
The warmth of the morning, with just its cold chill,
Can send the essence of the dark night, whistling
In the background, and making its waves, and tearing up its minds
Off speeding into the darkness it leaves behind in all its cold terror,
Letting the wicked and the injured inside, collapse and follow it,
As the days foreshadow beings to set in, touching the walls around us
Its grace and registration of a new day settling in, in unencumbered
Gripping making the new time, this new time, a complete release.
See the shadows of the darkness as they move so quickly, yet slowly through,
Hear the stillness as it begins to warm, and the floor begins to make
Popping noises, as the water heats and steams and comforts the room,
It can be felt, it can be touched, it can be the presence of the daytime
Floating over, bringing sunshine, bringing joy, and near fulfillment,
As the darkness of the night, recedes, for now, into the holes it is kept in,
Until the sun begins its flow, to the darkness. Pray only for the moon.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 9:15 AM UTC
As the crow flies south from capital city
With soaring moonshine he coasts into synchronicity
Highways below dissolve into forgotten whispers
Like a rear view mirror sees only memories in its disappearing
Visual ****** initiates and fills this polychromatic cruise
Starting with a quiet historic ruse
Contesting over which of the two
echo shadows for optical repeal
the many leaves of kaleidoscope hues
That keep a running legacy since time before our time
and / or
Buried horizon from endless layers of skyward hills
Hills that have been storing a primitive foundation for the growing of substructure foliage in order to be able to drop its petals and leaves
Resolve is left with the one true and unbiased impartial decider...
the wind
to form a fair measure of mediation
From the human view
All are merely a preview for the impromptu quest
In an attempt to catalyze foreshadow and paint memory for the drive out west
To approach from afar
The destination appears to be a resting
shape of an antiquated location
splashed with opaque aromas,
sensory weaving visuals,
and
Melodic tones of nostalgic definition
Emitting vibrations of soothing tremolo that quiver throughout the body
this multi-strip string of singular select shops
Is the alignment initiative in the countryside
forecasting a manifest
for the hazy occasion
Anointing inspiration over the heartland’s artland
That nearly only hope,
could create
Invisible snows sprinkle over roads like a magic red carpet of threaded tranquility in its coat
Enticing, Welcoming, and Lighting up this neck of the west
And opening into the
Woodland Hills of Little Nashville
———-—————————————-——————————
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 6:10 PM UTC
Standing in this sphere
I seek communion with the Stars
Heat and dust for hidden answers
I wonder wonder where they are?
Bursting into gates I dawn my robe like a heavyweight
Wandering thru the distance I am guided by the Wake
skim the outer rim clouds dissolve revolve or scatter
but I'm focus on the mission I'm surfing streams of gray matter
burn to shine walk the line define gravity : the Force
untethered in this universe My vision on the course
I fast devoid of sun or moon
comet of the galaxy I'm bound to Windu
I am Master of the unseen epoch
I foreshadow the battle whether it
yet be not true
You know like Yoda, I do
I'm staring/speaking into the nebular
what will birth from this mother nurse?
As I transverse like silver surf
Don't act like I can't create Heaven on Earth
I'm meditating on the cellular
my midichlorian ***** is buzzing like a church!
No alms needed I'm lighter when lit unified with this (galactic ****
light sight like solo omni verse
Re
Y
Me
So far not tea grow VOTE
The dark side outta Ben is Bern it's my turn speaking truth into these chicken boot tweens in Twitterverse
PLUCK A FEATHER
And make an ill quill
Letter!
A retweet beat writer
Faux Father but a real goal setter
Hope ya feel better
OR
A
Curse
I DON'T NEED A LIGHT BEAM!
Less is more like an invisible burst
I could cuttlefish but I'd rather soar
With everyting I've learned!
I am more than hate is worth
No matter measure of endeavor
light speed hyper space ever nearer to the source
I
Inhale Trees Exhale breeze Interstellar
Squeezed
Me out
A Feat at first
Then
knees bows spout nose and cranium
If i didnt know better id say my bones marrow vibranium
One bout won!
The night win some but they just lost one!
If i couldn't make words then i guess I'd just hum! I was born with this voice and this voice has sung
I was born with this force and with this force I run into
Entwined and unleashed all is bound to the Force
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
I woke up
alone
feelings of
cold
and
isolation
surrounded me in a haze
My eyes were open
yet the world was still dark.
It was so dark.
Dark enough to make me forget that
light had ever existed.
How had I gotten to this place?
I had no answer.
Maybe there was no answer.
Perhaps I was always
fated
to land in this location.
Alas,
my eyes land on a flickering in the distance.
A diminutive glow
contrasted by the vast night.
The curiosity of it
commands my legs to go towards it,
while something else,
something nameless,
warns me to stop.
But human nature can not be overridden.
Now,
in perspective,
I see a scene playing out
familiar to the
back-most parts of my brain.
A memory.
Myself as a little girl.
I watch myself draw.
What am I drawing?
I am drawing a butterfly,
every color of the rainbow
can be seen in it’s wings.
They resemble the smile on her face.
Wonder and innocence and ambition.
Life in it’s purest form.
And watching her, my heart warms.
She has everything to live for.
Her eyes filled with brightness
give me hope.
And with no warning at all,
the little girl is gone.
In her place is a girl,
still me,
slightly older now.
Perhaps around 11 years old.
I am still drawing the butterfly.
And it’s still vibrant with color.
And I still have hope.
Even when the shadows
tap on my shoulders,
telling me,
“No. It’s wrong.”
I still have hope.
Only questioning myself
for a fleeting moment.
And while I should be proud,
watching myself turn away
from those monsters,
I feel only a feeling of
blackness
enter the pit of my stomach.
Because I know how this story ends.
And like I foreshadow in my head,
the scene morphs again.
And this time,
the eyes,
the brown ones,
that used to reflect light off of their innocence,
are dead.
And the butterfly is now only two colors.
One is black,
outlining it’s hollow carcass.
The other is red.
The shade of red that didn’t come out of a paint bottle.
And before I can allow
any emotion to enter me,
the scene is gone again,
and replaced.
But this time there is no girl,
only a stone with her name and
a few dates carved into it.
The butterfly is still there though.
It lays in a box 6 feet under.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
I respect therapists
like I respect anthropologists,
they dig and encounter an ampersand,
they can always inform beforehand
and foreshadow results,
but they found my bones
below 6 feet
and can’t form an answer,
they knew where to search
they found the ticking finger
pointing at lazy fissures,
and buried blisters
but dripping shovels
keep raising a faded flag
that says
“they’re nothing here keep moving”
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 1:10 AM UTC