"retched" poems
Mary had a little lamb,
two lobsters and a Christmas ham,
a three-pound tub of chicken wings,
seven bratwurst tied with strings,
thirteen loaves of garlic bread,
a schnitzel bigger than her head,
four rare steaks, a dozen eggs,
caviar and turkey's legs,
strips of bacon, mushroom stew,
chunks of bread and cheese fondue,
and two whole jars of sauerkraut,
(to clean all of her insides out).
Finishing the pasta salad,
Mary soon looked drawn and pallid.
"I don't feel well," poor Mary said.
"I think I need to rest my head."
Then from her stomach came a moan,
a straining, churning, twisted groan.
Mary gasped; her eyes grew wide.
She'd only seconds to decide.
What could she do? Where could she go?
Her stomach was about to blow!
So, reaching for the nearest bucket,
she retched, and then began to chuck it.
All the courses that she'd swallowed,
and the apertifs they'd followed,
all the steaks and all the fish,
each and every single dish
came flying back from in her belly,
filling up the bucket smelly
with a foul and toxic brew,
and no one knew quite what to do,
so this went on for ten whole minutes
till Mary had expelled her innards.
When she was done, her eyes were red,
and sweat was pouring from her head.
"Are you alright, sweet Mary dear?"
her mother asked. She didn't hear.
For Mary was already off -
the waiters saw her try to scoff
the whole entire pudding bar.
Now, this had pushed her mum too far.
"Alright!" her mother cried, "I'm through!
I've done the best that I can do.
I'm sick and tired of all you eat.
I will not pay for all this meat.
I'm going home. Go get some help —"
Then Mary's mum let out a yelp!
She glanced down at her legs and saw
sweet Mary there begin to gnaw!
She struck the lass, but with great haste,
alas, the girl had reached her waist.
As Mary's ma was there devoured
by her offspring, overpowered,
she cried one thing ere final slaughter:
"It smells like lamb in here, my daughter."
Mary licked her lips and grinned.
She belched out loud and then broke wind.
She felt her tummy start to rumble -
and calmly ordered apple crumble.
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
Suicide, Suicide be my guide.
Show me if its time.
In my room.
These retched cries.
Hear me scream, hear me cry.
My thoughts that torture me.
The ones I hide.
Tattooed on my arms.
The scars of a thousand knives.
My tears have finally run dry.
As I cry, on this silent night.
Suicide, Suicide. be my guide.
Show me if its time.
To stay or to die.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
#
A lively debate
that inside I create
A seemingly
simple state
But this state
of affairs
Is like a ****** affair*
The details
I wish not to share
Please,
don’t stare
For inside
I’m scared
Am I prepared?
Do I have
the ***** to do
what I really care?
Or am I going
to stay on this ship
of self-despair
Where
I can scream
my lungs ******
into the air
But does anyone care?
Do I even f@cking care??
Maybe a life spared
but ***spare me the
retched bullsh@t***
of self-pity
I’m self-giving
It wreaks up the air
It’s noxious scent
is not one I care
to ever encounter
or fair
Let’s “clear the air”
and take on
what I want
from now on
No longer a pawn
who is living the tired
joke
of some *pathetic
love song*
No, THIS
is my “Swan Song”
Where I belong
This sh@t is ON!
Climbing the mountain strong
Bellowing a chant
a song
That’s been so deep within
for so long
It can only come out
Right
Because “wrong”
does not belong
**This virus
is airborne**
No longer forlorn
All the darkness
is gone
You have been
forewarned
Are you ready?
Because it’s coming
Sounding the horn
Sacrificed
the firstborn
The “storm”
Once icy and cold
Now simmering warm
Going to bubble into
volcanic ash scorned
This Oath
hath been sworn
Tattered and torn
**** cloth
all that is worn
But forward my path
What’s behind me
**My ***
The past
*Worn out,
decayed,
and shriveling trash*
All that
is gone
as I head
towards the dawn
Through the darkness
I’ve trekked
The Sun rises ahead
And with it
My song
My Swan Song
I am reborn
withered and worn
But still strong
I belong
***I am one
with the Universe***
The path before me
is brightly lit
with happiness and joy
No more patheticness
All the grit
and the spit
Broken teeth
All that sh@t
It all meant something
It was THIS
*Every bruise
Every break
All the “wrongs”
and “mistakes”*
Are what it takes
You can call it fate
or simply short of fatal
but since
neonatal
through this day till
Every day
I thankfully say
“Thank you”
for showing me the way
Because now I have
A love that stays
A true love
One that can’t
get away
Because I value Me
One ‘hopes’ or ‘prays’
But like a house
Each brick is laid
Onto the next
Foundation made
A sturdy house
Can’t blow away
Hard work put in
Made it this way
The same for me
The price I paid
But end result
A saving grace
#
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 5:08 AM UTC
i just want to disappear
get a chance to eat the warming scones from the oven
and just melt away in stars and sky of navy and grey;
i just want to disappear
to fly and to leave anywhere i want or desire or dream;
i'm dreaming of melting away from where i am
for i am floating already,
why can't i just disintegrate altogether;
altogether
yes a distant memory;
forever alone isn't something you would think of until
it actually happens;
although it's not something you realize unless you've
tried love and
and been scared, afraid of what the
person on the other end of the letters is thinking;
i just want to disappear
far away into the hands of someone who cares
not just about my picture but my pulse,
someone who looks not just at my eyes but at each
individual colouring strand inside
my plain brown eyes;
i just want to disappear so no one will have to face
my retched thoughts and unattainable dreams;
i just want to disappear so my friends won't have
to look at a scared
pathetic
unhappy
awkward
lonely person and have sympathy for me if they even do;
which if i were on the outside of my slinky body
i wouldn't;
i wouldn't just want to leave but disappear for it
seems that it's what i'm best at;
i just want to disappear
from my picturesque world that you couldn't
even take a nice picture in;
i just want to disappear
from my ocean of held back tear,
my shield of fearlessness,
a fake smile that a murderer would wear,
the impression i have on the other lives of people,
and just
i just
want to disappear,
to run away,
and to not have to cause any drama or half broken feelings to anyone,
to not correct people for their non-existent flaws that are really
my own
personal balled up feelings;
i just want to disappear,
fly away into the clouds and heavens of an unreal dream;
i just want to,
i just want to disappear,
disappear
away
fly away
and never come back
never have my flimsy feet touch the beautiful ground
never let my ruined soul harm a single cell of
anyone worth anything to a single thing;
i just want to disappear
i just want to disappea
i just want to disap
i just want
i just
i
- nameless and remaining
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 3:27 PM UTC
sitting hungry in the halls
reading holocaust novels with a morbid fascination
two identical scarves knitted by two identical souls;
both hungry for self-love, god-love and the night
one is rewarded by he who weaves the long, black tapestry of his own destruction; the other destined to sit lonely & forgotten
standing idly, lost in the dance of delusion
& moving wildly intoxicated
seeking love, seeking chase
giving flight to the demons of the age
the technological drug-fix of instantaneous communication
the lobotomy of both mental hemispheres
the horse collar choking struggle to escape clinging home and mother's spinning round & round
turning wheels and daisies
kicked up in the dust of the twilit road
retched from the stomachs of a thousand children lulled to sleep
by the sickly glow of orange floodlight
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 12:37 PM UTC
The sun rose on me
On the African Continent
On the north west territory
Where beauty meets torment
Dry unforgiving harsh land
Where the sun is King in its mighty light
Bathed by an ocean of shifting sand
Offering an infinite burning sight
Relentless wind, hot and strong
Constantly blowing with a hollow sound
Shaping the Desert's callous character
Invisible merciless powerful master
A Boundless sky, vast & deeply blue
Witness the retched souls & the subdued
Through thirsty lips whispering mercy too
Drinking from a tenacious source of fortitude
The horizon promises much hardship
Scorching heat & tests of faith
The element's forceful grip
til you face your very own wraith
Tarfaya & Smara, my waking world
Desolate wastelands where silence thrives
Sandstorms are born here to whirl & twirl
Existence suspended in time, engulfing all lives
I miss the stars filled sky, in the cold of night
Promises of Edens amongst enduring times
Justifying every pains to be worth a fight
Forging dreams in the night's paradigm
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 1:35 PM UTC
Black dog Jan 2018
I spend all my hours crying and crouching in dark despair, consumed by self-pity; neither living nor dead, my mind poisoned by grief, ruined, undone, bitter and broken; my love wrenched from me.
My dream smashed into a billion pieces.
I'm finally ready to embrace the black dog with all its teeth and fury, fearless, numb, exhausted, done.
I'll gladly drink down the bitter pills to end this state of loss; to spread my flesh, to let the cold waters draw me down; with pockets full of stones, anything to stop this intolerable feeling!
I am nothing but empty!,
I’m sick and tired and at the end!
And for those that may remember just how retched a soul I had become; I pray and pray; that I am soon completely forgotten.
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
Ah here sits the stone on the ground
The shrub on the hill. A
Natural state of affairs if you will.
Retched Earth, abominable stone
Why the nerve of the rag tag tree
To perch ones self in stark relief
Blocking the skyline, space invader.
Thief.
Why the unmitigated gall.
Of the rain to fall on withered
Pate..
Tis the empty barrel that rumbles profusely.
The shallow stream that muddles at the bottom.
Pyramid craniums, issues forth babble.
Slackjawd mouth-breather.
Knee **** Buffoon.
Perched in perpetuity,howling
at the moon.
The my way or the Highwayman, astride a cocked horse.
The cant see the beauty of the Forrest for the treeman.
Bull headed, Ram goat Salty old ******
Failure to Communicate.
Rush to excommunicate
Monolythic seer
Cotton eyed joe
Constipated thinker.
Oh the comfort and surety
of riding in the ruts.
.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
Tick tick tick tick tick
Clock endlessly ticking, clicking in my ear,
On and on, will it ever stop?
Tick tick tick tick tick
Seconds pass, slow, barely moving,
Louder and louder, practically screaming now.
Tick tick tick tick tick
Rolling over, flipping pillows, kicking covers,
Nothing, not a thing, is working.
Tick tick tick tick tick
Eyes squeeze shut, then open, drooping,
Won't stay closed, won't let me disappear into darkness.
Tick tick tick tick tick
How long has it been?
Hands moving on the clock, going...backwards?
Tick tick tick tick tick
My dreamland awaits,
Yet all I can do is daydream about those far off dreams I want to dream.
Tick tick tick tick tick
My mind is my prison,
My cruel captor, my mortal enemy, my unending undoing.
Tick tick tick tick tick
I must be going mad, utterly mad,
Stuck with this insomnia inside my blanketed asylum.
Tick tick tick tick tick
Hoping my tears will bring exhaustion,
But I'm just left in an ocean of hopelessness.
Tick tick tick tick tick
Staring at the inhuman neon numbers
That have come to rule my night, my life.
Tick tick tick tick tick
I try anything, no matter how cliché.
But not even counting coats of snowy wool can help me now.
Tick tick tick tick tick
Please lift me from this retched curse.
I'd take 100 years of sleep over no time at all.
Tick tick tick tick tick
Why won't my thoughts stop? Please!
Leave me be, leave me alone, let me sleep!
Tick tick tick tick tick
Yet they still run on, never-ending,
As the clock tick ticks away to the beat of my heart.
Tick tick tick tick tick
Ba bump, ba bump, ba bump, ba bump, ba bump,
Clock and heart in time together, intertwined as one.
Tick tick tick tick tick
As my heart slows, coming to a final stop.
I am grateful, and the clock fades off once and for all.
Insomnia gone,
I can sleep at last,
And I'm drawn into another world
Where my dreams become reality
And sheep frolick through fields
Along with me for all eternity.
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
Stop.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
the filth of the alley is kind
it is the dust of the office
that coats the brick cubicles
here stands the curved beauty
presented and elegant
as if carved to physical perfection
she sways the men who pass
hoping to tickle the primitive weakness
that steeps within
like a corporate jungle
they compete for position
to meet the daily quota
among the urchins and minions
they are the forbidden fruit
they’re bouquet fills the air
bringing suitors
who choose the exceptional
these retched sales are precise
they’re instrument is physical
product of flesh and pleasure
the red light markets this reality
teasing curious souls
into the cubicles
giving into the primitive weakness
they leave them stripped and bare
cradled by the alley
covered by the filth
the transaction filled
she stands
the curved beauty
and begins this ritual again
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
they snagged on her gown
as she attempted to flee
the retched night that had gone horribly wrong,
they worked with the enemy
to ensure she would not escape this town,
piercing her satin embroidery
and tearing at the draped silk,
hooking into her flesh, softer than a rose’s petal.
she gasped as pain struck her
and little rivers of blood streamed down her skin
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:26 PM UTC
we went to Little Blue
that summer in a bum'd car.
riding in extravagance
we couldn't afford.
camping in the Oklahoma ozarks,
we brought liquor. the two of us
drank a half-litre honey whiskey
and twenty-eight of thirty Pabsts.
your chick only nab'd two.
we were sunk from that point on.
i vomit'd behind the car, and
there were left retched handprints.
left were a phantom's handprints,
having been drown'd by their hedonism.
the bikers partied along
with us apart from us.
they ask'd to use our hatchet,
that's the way we met.
men share tools, and that was
the only instance of civility
for two days. we ran feral.
rip'd shirt to ribbons,
wrap'd them 'round a stick,
soak'd citronella,
commenced adventure.
returning,
two hours time gone;
returning,
scratch'd and bleeding;
returning,
we lit their paths with
torch burning a primal fire;
sleep,
pass'd out by fire in lounge chair.
been in this spot before,
knew to bring a quilt
and mine was the only one.
startled awake,
fire nothing more than nightlight embers.
raccoon, sitting upright,
stared from his high perch of a picnic table.
apple in paws, nibbling,
he mock'd and monitor'd.
i swiped at it with a stick,
missed. said **** it.
slept in the car that night.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 7:23 AM UTC
I was born in a pauper’s grave,
with the metallic taste of a silver spoon still lingering on my palate.
A passed life of exuberance,
lost like the previous days’ sunrise.
Golden beams; symbolic of only a desire for an intangible ecstasy.
I grew with a sharp tongue and a black heart,
the quality of my soul marred by the bitterness of regret.
I craved a euphoria that I could never quite attain,
a deranged obsession to feel at home again.
Though, I knew I would ne'er again experience,
the touch of fine lace on my flesh.
There is now a palpable separation of the wicked and the righteous,
and I have been caste down from my glimmering throne,
to walk among the dead.
I cringe away from their decrepit hands,
and the sickly-sweet, decaying smell of their breath.
These rats eating rats, this cannibalistic life,
I feel its effect moving through my layers of psychosis.
It gives me that déjà vu feeling that the sky and sea, unfeeling as they are,
have heard enumerable cries like mine, all too many times before.
I have a yearning in my bones for the days of Summers' passed,
with the smell of sweet honeysuckles and red roses perfuming the air.
Delicate words whispered through the vines of cherry blossoms,
dressed in soft, white cotton and lying amongst the Juniper trees.
It calls a tender feeling of nostalgia,
but my vision is shattered and beaten by a retched reality.
That of broken moon beams and a devastatingly darkened, burgundy-lined sky.
There is a perpetual insanity that lingers after every passerby,
like a dense trail that is all consuming.
The residents of this apocalyptic dimension are all obscene and ******
they all ooze a voracious odor of lingering death meat,
and no one seems to mind at all.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
they ask what
little sisters should
why the water is blue when deep
how the stones skip uncaring
on the surface
on the surface
we are tied through bloodline
vein to vein, spine to spine
retched to form through
a single woman in 45 hours
of neonatal grace
echoing anything but silence
they are a quiet pair of scissors.
mirrors, in perfect function
balanced from present lifetimes
of subtle practice
shimmering in sequence
one glammer, one smitten
echoes of anything but silence
I am that third thing
the cog on wings
mildly pressed between two
perfectly pounding structures
smiling in the buffer
I am drafting,
a stick on the ripple.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
There is no connotation nor denotation to a word in existence among us retched mortals that can be used to describe the superlative nature of my goddess' supreme and utter beauty.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
A master of characterization
After moments of gesticulation
Your characters become universal
Images play without dress rehearsal .
First created, an idealistic knight,
Who teaches the perfect techniques to fight.
Next danced a lad of ladies' desire .
Your words described me, "a lad of fire."
A counterfeit nun pilgrimed with the bunch.
She starved her dogs to have a second lunch,
Yet, you viewed her as whimsical and tame.
The way she faked, sung, and lied was a shame.
Still, I know this false Prioress today,
Characters such as this wont fade away.
The Miller modeled your retched Scot.
I too am Scottish, but retched I'm not!
Though we don't always view the world as one,
I have the faint soul of your pseudo son.
I too would flirt with the strong Wife if Bath,
And roam with the pilgrims down that God path.
Master at comic irony, you are
The church was corrupt, relics in a jar
Or a pardon for an extorted fee.
Friars with gifts for girls could not trick thee.
Twenty four of one twenty were finished,
But the affects will not be diminished.
They say you're number two in history.
For people like me, that's a mystery.
In a quill duel between Shakespeare and you,
You'd leap to number one, Shakespeare to two.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 7:56 PM UTC
She went to the police.
Told them she was being abused.
They didn't believe her.
They thought she was another teenage fiend.
She went back.
Told them that she was *****
They didn't believe her.
They thought she was another lying child.
She came again.
Told them she got beat up.
They didn't believe her.
They said if she comes again they will arrest her.
Her bestfriend came.
Told them that she was killed.
They didn't believe him.
He came back.
Told them that they aren't worth their lives.
They just laughed.
He left.
They got a call.
The person told them.
That they saw two bodies in the river.
The police went to check it out.
The bodies belonged to the girl and the boy.
The girl was killed.
The boy committed suicide.
Just to be with her.
The police were wrong.
They didn't believe their eyes.
They should start believing more.
**** April and it's fools.
The police were the fools in this story.
They started to believe more.
They saved lives of many after that.
But what I'm wondering is.
How come they didn't save those two kids.
That would've had lives to live.
If only they had believed.
In this retched April Fools story.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
The day the calves arrived was my favourite. We put them in our shed full of straw. They were skinny and looked unbalanced on top of their long, bony legs. They smelt like a dry room in winter, of vanilla cake and damp straw and droppings. The other kids retched, but I didn't mind.
I came in early every morning to feed the calves. I measured them and mixed water into powdered milk. They fought fiestily over the feeder, nudging each other crudely to secure the last few drops of milk. I put my hands out to calm them, and they latched onto my fingers with their mouthes, thrusting with their tongues, desperate for the milk I had spilt on my hands. The other kids retched, but I didn't mind.
I groomed them and let them drag me around the oval when I took them for a run.
Although I could barely keep up with their childlike bounding, I felt exhilarated and could not stop laughing. At the end of the day I'd lead them back to the shed and play with them. I took a pitch fork and scooped up the soiled straw for the compost and replaced it with clean straw. Of course, the smell wasn't pretty. The other kids retched, but I didn't mind.
On the weekend we met outside the sheds in our overalls and boots. It was cold and early, and the teacher was late. The other kids moaned about having to be there just to get "a stupid grade". I didn't care about the grades. I would have loved to have slept in, but I didn't mind.
The teacher finally arrived and put on her suit. She unlocked the shed and we were engulfed with the warmth and soft yellow light, the air scented by the sweet vanilla-like aroma from the powdered milk. I walked over to bid the calves good morning. One was nuzzling at the face of the other.
She was dead.
Natural causes apparently. I retched, but the other kids didn't mind.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 5:59 AM UTC
How long has it been?
A month, six weeks, longer than that?
For the record, let me tell you,
It has not felt half that time,
And yet... it has been years and more.
Generically, distance makes the heart grow fonder,
Which is true enough for me, though,
In that retched state, it leaves me
Also very prone to look and wander.
If my brain were a tree,
You would be its mistletoe;
Making me think of you often and always, and,
Despite my best efforts,
I have been unable to make you budge.
I might consider you a disease on my mind
(But as of this moment in time),
I couldn't care less when you jump into my thoughts
For it always brings memories of:
Your happy face,
Your smiling voice,
Kisses in the dark.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 11:48 PM UTC
Passing of time
Another year
Older this day
The signs are here
Im happy yet sad
Because of my growing age
This is bad
Like I'm on a stage
Everyone expects a show
Expecting magical tricks for me to grow
But I feel the same no older then yesterday
It's driving me insane
This constant responsibility
I'm a teenager for Godsake
Don't spoil it now!
I'm not an adult
Just leave me be
Before I'm cast into the retched society
Reality *****
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
I'm hung on the same shelf
Night after night, that shelf
That old, dusty shelf
My strings bundled up
So I can't leave this retched place
But in the morning you come for me
Untie my strings, and drag me away
The floor is cold under my feet
The lights burn my eyes
The cheering crowds hurt my ears
Then...the curtains open
And so the show begins
Master pulls my strings
I jump, dance, wave, kick myself and fall
But does anyone hear my cries for help?
They can't over their laughter
The humility is hurtful
The strings agonizingly painful
At war with the puppet master
But once again have failed
The curtains close
And I'm back on that old, dusty shelf
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
If you meant it
when you said
that I make you feel
warm inside,
then I’d say you leave me
smoldering.
An ode to destruction,
striking perfidiousness.
The very thought of you
cripples me beyond belief.
Disdain for you
dangles from my neck
and burns retched holes in my skin.
If you meant it
when you said
that I make you feel
warm inside,
then I’d say you leave me
lustrous.
Any attempt to describe you
would render me loquacious.
You are the feeling of
kicking high on a swing,
and a coffee break on an Autumn afternoon.
I feel rejuvenated and renewed
each time I breathe your name.
You could crush
or compose me
in one moment’s time.
You could curse
or control me,
love or
**** me.
Just never let
me go.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
You jump in
The water is cold yet soothing
You begin to sink
It gets darker
However, it's relaxing
You are taken from the world
And retched **** left on earth
The water envelops you
Goes in your nose
And you stop
You don't think or breathe
Or talk
You are alone with your thoughts
But alas, you are saved
But is it really being saved
If you don't want to be there at all?
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
You said
"I'm not hollow simply scarce and soundproof. Double jointed at the valves and cured of retched emotions."
But your sensory was superb
Your touch lingered in all of it's lacking purities
It mapped out the freckles lining my lips
A map you traced too often upon the bodies of far too many what's her faces hips
Yet you always came back to devour more
Understanding your underlying intentions became irrelevant and obscured
To count the conflicting answers
which were fed in heaps of sugar lined words
would drown me in irrationality and bitter conformity
And when your ghost is the only thing left to banter to as you smile upon the great unknowns
I'll smother the context of my emotions beneath the cages of my ribs
And walk towards the bare, unhinged moon with no remorse left to speak of
Leaving only salted words for you to inhale into your lungs
(C) Tiffanie Doro
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
These days, there’s a whole lot more than
a telephone wire separating us.
Blame yourself, you were beautiful.
I cannot handle such intensity in
small doses, like hard shots in tiny glasses.
That sort of proof just finds
me spilling my insides on the floor
of some rich fool’s apartment
in the lonely 7th district.
He came on too strong
I said ok, but no
Call me a cab
I’m no longer sad and he won’t make me happy.
So I’m leaving if it’s only his hands that are open.
I feel as if I left my old mind
backstage in the concert
of a spring that tried too hard
to be a winter.
I didn’t say goodbye,
it just left.
& I don’t miss it,
that season where I played the pilot fish.
The endless rain and grey skies
kept us all trapped in boxes,
well above & well beneath
the sidewalks that almost
seemed to cry.
I drank my weight in liquid
to keep it from spilling out of my eyes.
From a bird’s eye,
I suppose the streets bled together
like last night’s make-up does
on a Puritanical virgin’s face
when she swallows horror and shame
at 8 am, riding the train home.
Her throat burns and the line
just keeps on buzzing.
You can’t play with fire and not get burnt.
I thought myself the Phoenix,
but I was blind.
What you ingest, you expulse.
Indeed, in the end, it was me who retched all the ashes
I once said I was melancholic
and knew black was the best color
because I thought it held depth.
But there weren’t ever any holes, just shadows
dancing to a dreary song that
I never really even wanted to sing.
I let it sing me, nonetheless.
So life goes on.
I crawl forth.
You fold and move on.
The past falls asleep inside of our skulls.
I still see a thousand faces when I dream,
but now that’s enough for me.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC