"resenting" poems
Stop resenting me
For the way I shop
The things I do
To make sure
My food is fresh
I confess I feel blueberries
In my fingers
To make sure they are firm
Not too ripe
I confess I shake
Cans of spaghetti and ravioli
So that I know
The sauce is not
Congealed
I confess I pull frozen waffles
From the back of the freezer
Less likely that they thawed
And refroze into
Oddball shapes
I confess I smell trout
Before I buy it
Placing it against my nose
In the most unabashed
Way
Spare me your hate
About my consumer habits
When I know it has nothing to do with
Food
As long as I bring you warm release
In the darkness of your desires
Pull your tangled hair the way
You like
Bite your darting tongue
In mad hunger
Deep appetite
As long as I reawaken the
Woman
Primal animal hidden
Within
Turn your heat into a river
For a long passionate
Swim
As long as I attend quickly to your
Every ***** command
The craving of your ******
Insatiable
Demand
Then I can squeeze french bread
In quiet and peace
I can sniff cantaloupes
Without suffering ire
Or grief
I’ll take you tonight
In that filthy way
You like
Until then
Leave me alone
I’m shopping.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:15 AM UTC
I miss you
When I say that, I miss you more
I’m looking at your photo
But I still miss you
Time is so cruel
I hate us
Now it’s hard to even see each other’s faces
It’s only winter here
Even in August, winter is here
My heart makes time run
Like a Snowpiercer left alone
I wanna hold your hand
And go to the other side of the earth
To end this winter
How much longing has to fall like snow
For the spring days to come?
Friend
Like a small piece
Of dust
That floats in the air
If the flying snow is me
I could
Reach you faster
Snowflakes are falling
Getting farther away
I miss you (I miss you)
I miss you (I miss you)
How much more do I have to wait?
How many more nights do I have to stay up?
Until I can see you? (until I can see you?)
Until I can meet you? (until I can meet you?)
Past the end of this cold winter
Until the spring comes again
Until the flowers bloom again
Stay there a little longer
Stay there
Did you change?
(Did you change?)
Or did I change?
(Did I change?)
I hate even this moment that is passing
I guess we changed
I guess that’s how everything is
Yeah I hate you
Although you left
There hasn’t been a day that I have forgotten you
Honestly, I miss you
But now I’ll erase you
Because that will hurt less than resenting you
I’m blowing out the cold you
Like smoke, like white smoke
I say that I’m gonna erase you
But actually, I still can’t let you go
Snowflakes are falling
Getting farther away
I miss you (I miss you)
I miss you (I miss you)
How much more do I have to wait?
How many more nights do I have to stay up?
Until I can see you? (until I can see you?)
Until I can meet you? (until I can meet you?)
You know it all
You’re my best friend
The morning will come again
Because no darkness,
No season
Can last forever
Cherry blossoms are blooming
The winter is ending
I miss you (I miss you)
I miss you (I miss you)
If I wait a little longer (if I wait)
If I stay up a few more nights
I’ll go see you (I’ll go see you)
I’ll go pick you up (I’ll go pick you up)
Past the end of this cold winter
Until the spring comes again
Until the flowers bloom again
Stay there a little longer
Stay there
~BTS
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 6:35 PM UTC
complexity bias
how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex
poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews
Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%
perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -
give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences
I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces, you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied
25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born
there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future
this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden
my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder
my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under
so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority
you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions
resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length
compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
Dear life, what is it that makes you take on a journey which always leads towards an unavoidable, devestating yet resenting death ?
Since I cannot understand it fully I wander upon this world without finding any clear answers to satisfy the curiousity my heart bears.
In the realm of dreams I find rest, as my mind engages into this illusion and frees me from this reality for as long as my body pleases.
Awakened by loitering darkness, these questions are repeating themselves on a path of recurrance, without decreasing in strengh.
As my breath dies while feeling the agony, flames of hatred are seeping through my fragile, delicate existence, giving energy.
Rumbling, boiling in sadness I tell myself that anyone's forgiveness is not neccesary, losing control over this riot of pure fury without heart.
Looking back a thousand times, it remains as my very best choice.
Letting these emotions race, rage and rampage uncontrollably
Whilst losing ones self within a lunatic laughter to release pressure
I cannot stop these tears, pitying the past long gone rolling down my cheeks, moistening the very soil I am growing on, as a pure lily
Until the moment comes in which my body exhausts itself and allows me to enter the world of dreams, where despair fades into happiness.
Until the sun rises once again
~ Umi
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
I don’t really like to play the victim,
But I'm being failed by this system
7 hours, a hostage to cinder block rooms
With nothing to do but let myself be groomed
Into someone's labor source
If I don’t have money, I cannot live
But nobody seems to have a thought to give
To my Life being turned into a commodity
Something to be owned, taxed, a luxury
That sometimes I’m not able to afford.
So much stock is put into democracy
But we don’t matter to bureaucracy
Unless we use the paychecks earned
From the Liberties we burned
To fill their empty promises
They call us ungrateful and lazy
For recognizing that this life is crazy
And resenting all the thought and time
Spent in the Pursuit of a rich man’s dime
Instead of our own Happiness
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
Molly came to school when I was fourteen
but she was years older, appearing as a beautiful traveller
who'd circled the globe and made friends with everybody.
She was always the popular one, but one I never got to know,
because my sister at thirty-five told me that she had killed a man
once or twice.
The kids I knew found this hard to believe, as Molly got to know them all.
She'd hang out with them after school, and was always there,
waiting to widen her circle.
Molly never lost her charm,
and she stole the hearts of boys I loved.
She opened their eyes to a world I could not show them,
she drank their blood on Friday nights.
Every boy I'd meet would have a story to tell,
her name dropped like an atom bomb into conversation.
They'd all met her.
They all knew her.
They met her at nightclubs,
and stopped caring about how **** the music sounded
They met her on their holidays ,
and tasted her before the alcohol wore off
They met her at festivals,
where she'd creep into their tents before the main stage lit up
I wonder maybe one day will we be friends
Instead of resenting each other
because she's killed a man
more than once or twice
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Hey Sweetheart remember me?
The girl you said you 'loved' for almost a century?
Please just come back and I'll fix what is wrong,
I'll take care of you, nurture you 'till you're strong.
I'm sorry i called you so late last night,
but i was so drunk I had lost all my might.
I lost all personal control that would say no,
I was just missing you my sweet bitter woe.
One day I hope you'll stop resenting me,
And maybe then I won't be so crazy.
If that happens then maybe we'll bump into each other in the future,
like how we planned before we went out on this little 'adventure'.
We can go on dates and be adults filled with hope,
maybe even try and get a ring too elope?
I understand I'm really childish and I'm sorry I really am,
I'll do anything just for you to be my man.
I love you so much and I miss you terribly,
Please write back soon I'll just be sitting waiting here sadly.
-Alicia Hubert
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 3:34 AM UTC
Obedience
The word makes my mouth feel weird.
What is it there for.
It is it really there to help with discipline.
Or is it there to make you a tool for society.
Is to maintain you from being yourself.
Or does it suppose to balance it out.
I don't know at this point.
While I was a kid, obedience made me a toy to society.
and held me back from myself.
I grew up resenting everyone who could be themselves wishing I was free.
But finally I have that freedom I crave.
Obedience.
What is it for?
Oct 30, 2020
Oct 30, 2020 at 12:00 PM UTC
**Back stabbing ******
The lines have been crossed
Remove the knife**
*Delegated waters
Empty hearted man
Passing mucky tides*
**Shutting me out
Resenting me, Friend
Closing the airwaves**
*Driving away mad
Behind I stand
Left to wonder why*
**What had happened
Losing the contact
Misunderstood**
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 7:31 AM UTC
traffic backup,
roadwork signs.
drive down road,
little houses
treed yards.
brown leaves,
first sign of fall.
kids about to go back to
school\parents
return to work. rolling
on the seconds go,
ticking by faster
each year so it
seems.
cars piled up,
to slow, won't go.
tiny dancers in the
wind blow on to car
windows,
another sign of coming
Harvest Season.
people resist the clear
trademarks
enjoying the fall,
but resenting the
winter.
I can't understand
New England birds,
you're housed in
cocoons like caterpillars
that guard against the
elements,
not freezer coldness
that animals call home.
I'm not sure the memo
reached you,
but this isn't the
South.
trees like snakes,
shed their
rainbow skins, as
"Old Man Winter"
kicks in. the sound of
leaves crunching, cold
on the floor under foot.
Autumn's death has
no memorial,
birds flying South
a eulogy.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
"So what can we do for you today?" he asks
My expression unwaveringly content as if wearing a mask
"A lobotomy!" I say with a half-subdued smile
The doctor says he hasn't "heard that one in a while"
Little does he know I am completely serious
And in just a few minutes we being to discuss
"Now why would you want a lobotomy?" he asks leaning in
After a deep breath, I'm all too eager to begin
No bills, no job, no expectations
No depressing lack of motivation
No world hunger, no homeless men
No fear, no stress, no depression
"No love" doc says, sensing I'm the romantic sort
"No heartbreak, cheating, or divorce" I snarkily retort
No lies, no betrayal, no used-to-be friends
No mortgages, no insurance, no trying to meet ends
No hopelessness, no emptiness, no what-ifs or regrets
No innocence or loss of it, no piling up debts
No 8 A.M. alarm, no "what's the point?"
No recurring pain in my left shoulder joint
No waking up from a dream and facing reality
No resenting myself, no one taking advantage of me
No broken sink, no "I'll deal with it later"
No bug problem, no blasting-bad-music neighbor
No thoughts, no feelings, no doing a thing
Just sit, breathe, and eat what the nurses bring
No voice in my head, no have to eat healthy
No "rest when I'm dead" or work 'til I'm wealthy
No final straw in my constant fight
To try to find reasons to keep living life
No fear of the future, no lies from the past
No more constant sadness, I finish at last
An empty silence falls over the moment
The doctor is thinking and his face starts to show it
And then he said something I'll never forget
"I guess you're right, let's get a date for it set"
Doc so strangely agreeing I suddenly hesitate
And before he says more, I can only say "wait…"
"Maybe not yet," I sheepishly say
Maybe there's hope, if even just a ray
I think about life then say "what the hell, why not?"
There may still be hope even if it's impossible to spot
But hoping for hope might be enough for me
To save my brain from a lobotomy
And if in a few years things still aren't going well
I guess I'll still just keep living because eh, what the hell
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 2:14 AM UTC
Father can you listen to me
Will you listen to me for a minute
I don't feel loved by you anymore
You were never home
Mom practically raised me
Everything I learned as a man
I learned by another man
Who took me under their wing
You didn't even talk to me about ***
I learned what I was doing as I kept on having it
I didn't know what an STD or *** was
I learned that in *** Ed
I had no idea on how to change the oil in a car
My boyscout leader taught me
Father we never spend anytime together
I wish we could play catch
I wish you could teach me how to ride a bike
But wait I forgot Rafial's dad did
You were always gone
No wonder I'm half a man
No wonder I'm emotionally distant
I have nothing to offer anybody
But half dead poetry
Based on killing myself
Because secretly I don't have a father
Even though he sits right next to me
I wish you would listen to me
But you're not here for me to tell you this
I hope you can forgive me
For resenting you all this time
I'm leaving in a year
And you still make no effort
In being here to see me off
Fine
I made it this far without you
I will make it farther without you
Hello father nice to see you
Goodbye father sorry you just got home
But I'm leaving
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
Breathe.
Breathe deep,
and in between
those breaths
bring back
banished beliefs
buried beneath
beyond
broken bonds
and
burnt bliss.
Embers.
Embers everywhere
of emotions
expecting
Elysium’s
elusive embrace.
Roses.
Roses scattering
restlessly;
rarely receiving
reprieve;
reminiscing;
ruing
reproachful ravens
resting
rigidly;
rabidly reaping,
rending
rotten remains,
resenting rainfall
refusing remorse.
Nostalgia.
Nostalgia underneath
neon nightlights;
noticing
nubs,
noises,
nuances;
neither neglecting
nameless
nonbelievers,
nor nurturing
narrow-sighted
naiveté.
Asleep.
Asleep amidst
fleeting azaleas
acknowledging
an abandon
amplifying
already
almighty
affection;
almost
altering
ancient,
ardent,
adamant
air
as an
ageless art.
Loss.
Loss overpowering;
lost love,
lingering longing,
lasting laments.
Lachrymose lovers
left layers
of a
limited life
within
long-forgotten lore;
lest labeled
Loveless;
left
little
longer
living.
Yearning.
Yearning for
the warmth
of home.
Yesterday,
You
were
yelling
‘YES’
at the top
of your lungs,
and
it
was
enough.
Yet
Yggdrasil
yielded
yew
for years
and years;
young,
yellow yeggs
yanked asunder
Yin
from Yang
into the
ever yonder.
Night-time.
Night-time symphonies
nullify
nothingness;
nourishing
Nyx Nightmother’s
need
of newfound
night-thinkers;
napping
nonchalantly
now,
near,
and nevermore.
~D.C.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
Recently,
her mind is
debating
with her heart
resenting
every word
she wasted
on this paper
and all the metaphors
you haven't even decipher
but how
can she stop it
you have brought her up
to the top
then pushed her
to this
bottomless pit
now
she's stuck
in this drop
and it's growing
big
like
a bad habit
running
like
a mad rabbit
munching
on her thoughts
of you
while trying to
remove your face
off the view
like grime
on her tiled walls
made by
endless waterfalls
of whys and what ifs
and all her selfish beliefs
like
how you will read
her poetry
and chew the words
like sticky pastry
but her mind said
"you're wasting your ink"
she should stop writing
poems about you
and let her
memories
sink
in the letters
of your name
that are scattered
in her head
all printed
in heavy lead
therefore now,
she concluded,
the real dilemma,
to wake her up
in this coma
of dreams of you
and
find
a paper
that will reach miles
across the equator
-I Should Stop Writing Poems About You, Margaret Austin Go
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
It rained on and on.
The fire in the hearth
Had long died out.
Hunger grew,
Frustration raged.
Vultures swooped down
to feed on flesh.
Half willing, half resenting,
Surrendered, rather subdued,
Desires spilled over,
Bristles pricking
From ***** to *****
Thrusting and tearing
Devouring in greedy gulp
Waves surging past the log
Passion spent,
Hunger appeased,
Purse strings loosened,
Silver coins tinkled.
Amply paid,
Her wages of shame……
The toil not wasted!
The reel of Time unwound itself,
And the scenes, constantly replayed.
‘Exploring hands encounter(ed) no defense’.
Each day closed in ****** h(r) ut,
When the h(r) ut turned a ****
She started to rot.
Feeble she grew,
Languid she became,
Body thinned,
Energy waned,
Ailments plagued,
And
Immunity lost!
Now,
She lives an outcast.
A wild flower
wilted by the wind!
A luscious fruit
blighted by the worms!
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 12:28 PM UTC
two figures intertwined on a twin sized bed.
he rests in a blanket of tranquility
breathing deeply to the pace of a metronome.
his mind, at ease,
oblivious to the entropy beside him.
she lies on a sheet of apprehension
suffocating the gasps accompanying each tear.
her mind, distressed,
resenting the unconsciousness beside her.
May 20, 2011
May 20, 2011 at 12:43 AM UTC
I sip on scotch and sit here
and secretly, I hope you'll appear.
At first, you'll glance through the crack in the door frame,
I'll look like the intellectual you were missing all this time.
You'll wonder why you ever left and how it was that you thought
you could do without me.
I'll feel the burning of one eye upon me,
so as to keep your furtiveness, your surprise,
but then a second reveals itself, and then your cosmic third.
The desk lamp will shadow your outline
when I slowly, intuitively, glance over my shoulder
somewhat unexpectedly, to you.
My eyes will pry, if only rhetorically, "Who's there?"
and you'll slowly, almost shyly,
though we were never shy with one another,
creak the door open to unveil your then-lit body.
Your radiant figure will send vibrations
through the wooden floor slats into my feet
and I'll begin to feverishly dance,
right then and there,
as if bitten by the largest of tarantulas.
I'll stare in disbelief
thinking that maybe it's the alcohol
which has created this image of you,
or maybe, in fact, I'm devastatingly sleep-ridden,
and so against my heart's common sense
I'll rub my eyes to clear the vision.
You, who haven't shown up night after night,
through all of my writing and pondering
and talking-to-self and drinking
and questioning and driving
and aimlessly-staring and searching
and forgetting and trying-to-understand
and resenting and hating
and loving and forgiving
and grinding and howling
and loving and missing,
but this one night,
this blue moon event,
I guess you could call it that
though it's already passed,
after consuming too much,
you'll appear.
Then I realize,
I am here
and you are nowhere.
Always I think I hear sounds
similar to returning footsteps
barely audible over the taps on my keyboard,
but it's never you.
And so, I continue on,
peeking over shoulder,
awaiting my cliché,
as I sit here and sip scotch after scotch.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 1:49 AM UTC
I can smell their cowardly fear
their frantic desperation is palpable
they stink frustration and boiling envy
their lies, scams and foul smears unravelling
coercised crowd seeing them for the scums they are
they garner contempt hidden for fear of not belonging
a lot afraid to tell them they no longer buy into their mischief
behind their wicked backs the immigrants are disgusted and sick
sick of their characters, their indulgences and their empty arrogance
The immigrants know it's all racist hatred
they now know the poor man did nothing wrong
know how pathetic and sick these wanton devils are
know these spoilt ignorant rabbles are souless juveniles saps
laugh at them behind closed doors amongst themselves silently
while pathetic thieves and ****** associates boast of their power
power of cowards and scums and workshy semi-illiterates sad fools
resenting success and hard working people who put in the hard graft
jokers and fantasists too stupid to really see what's happening in light
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 10:25 AM UTC
The hardfaced queen of misadventure
Dressed in a robe of insecurity
Seated on a throne of infidels
Ornate with misled hearts of a thousand men.
The resenting mirror of insidious lies
Confessed all the ugly truth
Of all those swollen eyes and wrinkled cheeks
Concealed behind a facade of smiles.
The incongruous pair of unfortunate heels
Tells a thousand stories of her exploit
In worn out stilettoes of faded red
By the futile resistance of those frozen feet.
Playing god on the hellbound streets
Her thighs bewitching weak and drunken hearts
In a fiery throng of mutilation
For a decisive battle that shall claim no victor.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
I dislike referring to it as my accident,
'Cause of so many reasons and losses,
I just can't stop resenting the accident.
I lost my memory & I'm still fighting,
'Cause I first had to relearn speaking,
I retrain my legs – train for balancing.
The brain injuries even made me forget how to swim,
I miss swimming elegantly for long time stretches,
It's not something anyone would usually forget.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 7:45 AM UTC
Oh youthful innocence
Why did you leave me so fast.
I feel like adolescence
Was ****** upon me
Like a straight jacket
No room for mistakes.
Scoliosis from book bags
Full of homework
Sagging with responsibility.
Late nights spent with red eyes
And tissue boxes
Letting stress seep out through tears
But only when no one is watching
I am a pillar of strength.
I yearn for days of Lego towers
Barbie dolls and dress up.
Why can't I stay in neverland
Responsibilities perpetually
To far off in the distance
To concern me.
I want to not care so bad
But that is not an option.
So I press on and move forward.
I keep on growing up
And resenting it.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
Reality
False galaxies
Accepting so is rather challenging
Resenting though, is rather cowardly
Our dimensions stack unto this universe and creates what is real
Soft, hard, wet, rough are all unique realities of what one feels
No evil, no good, only what one makes of the subject
I may love, others may hate, few must ****
The converging of realities with others makes the original heal
What my reality makes of love reveals others to see energy that turns one ill
My eyes, your eyes
They meet and dilate
Do they see each other's reality?
Do they meet our beautiful perceptions of what is a light?
Move into one another's mind to make yours entice
Life is making something of nothing
Coming a long journey from our ancestors who have made the 'reality' we have now
We have forgot to think for ourselves, mind controlled by the past, by the dead, by minds like ours
Awe and wow
We are all ignorant only fueled by the ignorance before us
******* gazing upon what seems to be higher
Though all they are is a higher form of ******
The wiser one is, the more one is a ******
None of was truly know reality as a glimpse that slithers
It slithers shortly giving each one of us a piece of the puzzle
Later, the puzzle will become completely gone
Our realities will become bigger through the art of believing
The puzzle will wither
What is truly real will be gone
There only be false
Others that are longed
You see a false, but a real design through your eyes
As one reality has taught me this, I made his realer
Thus what we have is bliss
******* formed by a real master
In my false reality, as this is the beauty of life
Every one of us need our realities to be heard
They need to merge
Though, one mustn't let other realities limit theirs
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
Resenting the light,
from the Olympian,
that warms my wool.
It cowards behind holly,
that grows in the pine grove.
Retreats to shaded cold,
below timber arms.
It is disgusted to the sight,
of white, yellow and orange.
Prefers the blue of night.
As it fades, flows and steeps.
It becomes clear,
pillaged of its white veneer.
Though, it carries forward,
like a grudge that won’t melt away.
Or is it more like love,
ever changing.
Or even as stubborn,
as a cold bedded love.
That brings life to you,
at least once a year.
But, in the end
it recedes.
Into the wood,
from under the holly.
Then waits,
until you’ve almost forgotten.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
As the exhaust spewed its mourning glum
onto the whimpering porcelain snow,
the chauffeur looked up and desperately prayed
for an Academy Award winner.
"Novelty tears shall spout at all times!"
And the thespian will charge through those double doors,
beginning his craft from the moment he hears the ***** *****
singing the deceased's pleas towards the golden gate of Heaven
and crunching through an audience of bawling admirers
of a man he barely knew.
He was chosen to give the eulogy.
Designated to speak on the behalf
of man he never thought to glance at twice,
besides the intervals of days spent
despising the realization of his existence,
resenting the scars created in surplus quantities,
stomping down the darkest layers still oozing from the coffin.
For a handful of hours, it must all become a waning spark for the
method actor giving the most crowd-pleasing breakdown of his life,
delivering a perfectly tailored recital
cloaked to all the front-pew viewers
as a heartfelt elegy.
"Just a few hours," he thought as the double doors creaked,
and the scene will end with him sliding into his car,
a dead weight off his shoulders,
driving victoriously into the sunset.
A new set of tears rolled with the end credits,
along the face of the son,
liquidating the thespian with their bleak sincerity.
They were drops of remorse
for a bond that was never born,
with an abortion in a wood encasing
for all those people out there in the dark.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
But oh he was wet and dripping ignorance
And I was combusting with unholy fury
Smiting him to and fro
With my unsheathed pen
And he sat struck dumb
Morally zombie like moaning again
For my skin
But I just wrote wicked hymns
Life graffiti, like rings of fire
And he dared not behold these cat
Eyes
and black widow smirk
“Her defense was frightening”
A phrase he said himself
To whom self still turning like
Clockwork from the very
Spoils it never left
And I went like laughing
Knowing well I was no psychopath
But wrote honest colors of the world
In black ink and white paper
Blowing his mind
Like streetlamps in the midst of ill-mannered
Children with heavy rocks
And how I was amazed
When I saw
That bead of sweat
Run down those taunt brows
Like a floating messiah
With no duty but to be heard
And if I tried to express
This dear loved ones
I would nonetheless
Use words putting us both in
Abashment
But oh was it impossible he gave
What I sought
No longer listening to the little jesus
That caused him to convulse to and fro
Every night
And behold so he spoke:
“You are the first girl that ever
Really made me think”
Tone affectionate, not resenting
And I swear I felt it
I felt world peace
And he cursed me
With the very touch
That I longed for
And feared
I guess I knew not
Everything in the world.
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 2:17 PM UTC