"mathews" poems
It swims in his eyes
without worry of me watching.
A kind of crazy spin stuck
like blood clotting. The rotting
space of a wasteland for a mind.
Where memories of people jump
from the eyes they lie behind.
I’m just trying to find a place to focus.
The locust leap from withered grasses-
hopeless. But land on greener pastures
which denotes this time the enemy might
be closest.
Closest, too close & under heavy dosage.
No sign of sedation. Eyes boat racing.
Words flung from a tongue like first tasting
lust and embracing your own disgust. Chasing
thrills, gorge pills
By the bottle before replacing.
Crust flaking from wasting skin.
By eyes still wild, captivating with
a maddening spin.
It can’t end.
If It didn’t begin.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC