I display my collection of skeletons openly on my wrist
Only employing their usage if someone carelessly insists
They jingle, jangle, clack
My bleached bracelet of many bones
Clattering and bumping into each other
Waiting for a black corner to call home
I wear my assemblage of dancing skeletons on my wrist
Dangerous they are
Besotted with madness
Sometimes I simply cannot resist
Taking one, two or perhaps three and giving them a toss
Calling secrets from their crafted tombs
Time, deeds and scars
Glittering jewels of a humans emotional wall
So if you see me with bones around my wrist
Cease your scheming despot take heed and desist
Lest I take another one of these skeletons and give it a toss
And watch your dreams descend into that they call
The long walk.
@ copyright Tammy M. Darby April 11, 2018.
I don't know the words that makes this madness go away.
The words I've spoken are burying my own grave
and I don't know why there are no coffins below.
Where did all the skeletons go?
I think i'll have to get a new wardrobe.
I think I know where all the skeletons go.
I want to try on some different clothes,
but all my outfits seem to be made up of bones.
I don't understand why I don't like my own home.
I think I know where all the skeletons roam.
I think i'll have to hide in my wardrobe.
I think I know where all the skeletons roam.
This is from a song I wrote with a few edits.
you experience something
with another person
that typically involves
a great deal of
love and commitment.
but, you didnt want to.
this person didn't love you
nor were they commited to you.
is usually special
but, you can't even tell me
if it was because
you dont know.
you dont remember.
welcome to my life.
i was the mere age
i thought i loved him.
i didn't tell anybody.
i made excuses.
“i wasn't drunk.”
“i wanted to.”
i spent six long months
before i finally decided
it was time to tell my mom.
my mom told me
i had a doctors appointment.
i have been consistently
losing weight and
i hadn't been sleeping at night.
when my doctor asked if
my mom could come in too,
i instantly knew something was wrong.
my mom looked into my eyes
and told me i needed to be honest.
i had no idea
what she was talking about.
“she was *****,”
my mom blurted.
six. *******. months.
that i didn't want to think about,
just to have all that hard work
having someone i
loved and trusted
do something so awful,
that was heartbreaking.
but digging it all back up?
that was torture.
to love thine own self is a masquerade,
concealing the shrine of hallowed skeletons,
whom we worship, and to whom we sacrifice
our ghastly flesh, as we set fire to our lungs
with cigarettes, to numb our bodies' aching;
pumped full of diet coke and *******,
filling the gaps: it makes you thinner,
and there is no beauty without pain.
i think i'm relapsing.
I’ll never forget the skyline that night
The way the pinks and purples bled across the horizon
Or the shadowy crisscrosses of the Girard Point bridge in the distance
5 lanes and Your Song on repeat
The emptiness I felt was like nothing I’d ever experienced before
With the black lace still damp against my body and the smell of saliva still potent on my hand
I told myself that with my contacts in I could pretend to be watching someone else from above
I could make believe that it was a different girl with her back arched as a boy she barely knew made a home inside her
All I thought of the whole time was you
With his mouth all over me I imagined your tongue on my *******
I cried silent tears for 63 miles that night
And then scrubbed my skin raw
Called your best friend and accepted her judgement as my penance
****** in all the hurt when she told me what I already knew-that you would never look at me in the same way again
I hope you never have to wrap your arms around yourself so you don’t fall apart
I hope you’re never so lonely that you give away the thing that means the most to you for an hour of closeness
My darling, just because someone’s been inside of you doesn’t mean they’ll make sure you got home okay
Just because you’ve had someone else in your mouth doesn’t mean you’ll want the man you really desire any less
*** is not a band-aid
I learned that lesson the hard way that night in an unfamiliar dorm room off of I-95
Pinks and purples that matched the fingerprints on my arms playing against the buildings in the distance
A million lives in that skyline
I wondered if anyone else had ever felt this lonely before
the heartbeat of the earth fuels the swell, yet it always shatters against the sand
rain drips behind cracks in the alleyways,
collected by those who water the flowers daily
and when the buds bloom in spring
even the waves are still.
[ to admire their beauty. ]
They say be scared of funerals
Because the wooden box traps beasts.
I say what is one funeral compared to the whole
Graveyard in my heart in which I so carefully lowered my memories,
Packed them like sardines, their skeletons grinding bones to dust,
Crunching sounds you can only hear
If you get close enough to smell the decay.
A broken path of pleasure,
Confronts my waking mind,
Skeletons line the carpet,
The path I seek to bind.
Uncertainty surrounds me,
But so the way of life,
An infant artist,
An unconscious exuberance,
The perverse I secretly entice.
Duel opposition's approach in unison,
Fighting for peace with each,
The true anima hides beneath the blood,
Narcissistic emotions naked on a beach.
Forbidden in reality,
The dark caves of the primal soul,
The lost murmurs of effrontery,
Tortured desires repressed explode.
Skeletons in your closet only proves you were once alive.
I cannot bury these bones somehow...
floor to ceiling windows
stacked two upon two
capillaries bursting with office work.
neon signs and patina streaked doors
opening up valves at lunch times
Pret A Manger bloodletting.
final call at The Angel
heralding the end of the work week
teams of cleaners flush the system
to restart for the following Monday.
Seek out the skeletons on every surface
Your no fun if you go to bed first
Those days were dark & merciless
You recited lies to my pretty face
I forgave you;
Lord knows we both sin
My fortune predicts I won't win
Cause you're already tasting that drip;
And you crave the bitterness
You can't cure him with charisma
And your love won't liberate him
So say your prayers till your voice is strained
100 Hail Marys won't alter this game
-Kellie A. Scranton
May 2017 - Lippincott days in moorestown
It’s pitch black again as you’re driving home. The wind whirls around the world outside, the radio static barely drowns out the noises in your head. When did it get so loud? Each thought screams at you. Reminders of all of the mistakes you’ve buried in the backyard. Did you forget what happened the last time you dug them up? All of the ghosts coming out to play. The skeletons in your closet morphing into bodies of the people you used to love. People who used to love you. People who have found warmer homes elsewhere. It’s cold this time of year but never as cold as it is beneath your ribs. Drives like this feel like forever when no one’s riding shotgun in the passenger side. The laughter now an echo from the back of your mind. When was the last time someone told you it was going to be okay? Or has it been so long that the word “okay” isn’t a feeling but a faraway place you uprooted from the day your mom stopped coming home. Trauma has many names but never this many faces. A deer jumps in your path and you almost step on the gas instead of your breaks.