With a blistered heart
From unnumbered breaks,
A cloud of unshed tears
From untold betrayals,
I reenter the world
After an eternity or more
Of self imposed asylum
From a world of superficial bliss.

A world unchanged!
A cruel untended garden
Of deceptive beauty
And unkind thorny roses.
Lovelorn shadows,
Masquerading venomous claws
With beauteous flamboyance
And undesirable attraction.

Lethargic feelings,
Dousing my desires
With drowsing memoirs
Of countless emotional abuse,
Causing momentary spasms
In cerebral regions
Parading nocuous images
In the plenitude of projected beauty.

Scarred beyond immediate cure,
I recede from said world-
Too adverse for tender hearts
Back to hibernating moods
To nurse evergreen cuts
Cuts so deep, so lethal
Only the indolent strides of time
Can attempt to stitch!

Awaiting prophetic moments
Moments with mirage qualities
When in-love I can fall again
When a damsel I can trust again
When my heart can beat again
For one with pure intentions
Not putrefied by Hollywood mentors
But virtuous in biblical ways...


© Raphael Uzor

the delicate blossoming
of budding flowers, secretes
poisonous ardor. tainted by
the loving thorns of death,

my veins carry nocuous nectar.
and demeter wails, her garden
polluted and infused with ichor
deadly. and weeds rampage,

absorbing my heart's nutrients.
till inseminated with a plethora
of nightshade and datura.
my body now a mere vessel

of your deathly grove of misery,
delicately blooming dark myrtle.
a lost soul in my fields of mourning.

It was you
you who burbled my thoughts
Who coruscated my facets
Who severed my gears
Who took my milk for gall

You who left me
digging caverns below my arms
as they proved to
hold no one

So useless, I became their hangman
hoisting them up
to the sky,  
dangling them down
to the ground
They swung lifelessly,
as a nocuous pendulum,
condemned by all
for their open tears  

It was you who couldn’t bear my weight
no matter how light it got
or how strong you grew

You who lugged my baggage on your back
and threw it off your shoulders
when you found it a foolish load

You who poured cream in my coffee
with your sweet laughter

Who gave my stomach butterflies
ridden with insomnia

It was you
who left me
lovesick and languid
biting back malaise
with an ailing tongue

Now I house snoring
butterflies with broken wings
and my coffee is black
and bitter
like me


One day,
I’ll wake up
with grooves marrying my skin
encroaching
like waves on a bay front
with gunmetal hair
sweeping
like a broom over dross
with dust nodding off
on my knees

I’ll gulp down bygone speech
putting droughts in my throat
from all the pride I swallowed
then, with a bone-dry mouth, I’ll speak again -
as winter must melt into spring -  
and I won’t say “It was you”

I’ll say
“It was me.”

mottled bookmarks pin  
     tiny fragments of mine.
       pages unfold from within
   and resist to curve behind the time.
       grimaces fade into memoirs.
         suit coats on petit bourgeois
     wink at my shredding guard vest of tin.
           to wipe off those band-aids,
             to slim my baggage sutcase,
       to bury the laundry in silk waters is to see
             it's lifting aloft no casting aground
               so I murmur aloud shunning the clout.
         a biting leech tot under battings of the brick.
               me overlooking my hot spice of a boy
                 is cringy to mimic a sickening coy.
           seems like I'm a worm and blood I eat and drink
                   to transmiss leukocytes all over the globe
                   when my maw is stuffed and my bulge bobes.
         two sides of me rubbed along are two poles.
                 I bite far and I link two organisms
               meds' substitution with itchy feelers
       and a deep chested sweetheart, him I fret.
               when to run my slabber in his blood
             is to dehydrate and self-slenderize me?
     awe-eyed lover man slim'd my tube in size.
           me be loved for a healer then be dumped
         but it's in my cytoplasm and in my blood
   to bottom the gutters as if by dirt under the fingernails.
         a biting thot inside the bloodsucker ***
       seen by people as a nocuous germ.
they may wash their hands with a laundry soap
       everybody is no island, I unrobe my cloth.
     to cut sheets from life diaries isn't tougher any more.
© 4 days ago, Anton   nature  • humor  • personal  • societ

Nexit Nigh Noon
Not Never Now
Nearly Nocuous
Nodulations Noma
Nonfeasance Nuance.