"tagged" poems
To be a woman
Is to be property
To act ladylike
Is to mold into the stereotype
To speak up is unheard of
Just go crawl behind the white man you see in front of you
A glimpse
Of steel is all you see before
The warmth of blood drains every part
Every being you thought to be strong
Now gone
Pick up the pieces
Bandage that wound
We have a war
One that was fought before
Blood on the knife
Stained the suit of the man walking to the congress chair
He holds it up with a smile
And the other men in the house follow
As they add it to the closet of achievements
We are strong
We are not blind to perspective
We see in color
Stitch up the knife wound
Targeted at the abdomen
Property does not fight back
A piece of land does not speak words
The cornfields do not unite
To be a woman
Is to have a voice
One loud enough to be heard over laws
That prohibit natural human rights
Our bodies are not to be tagged by the market vendor down the street
Politicians now playing a game of operation in their makeshift white coats
Forgetting all that we have achieved
Women's bodies are now more dangerous
Than a gun on school property
To have a body
Is to have a choice
To be a woman
Is to bring justice and unity to all
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 12:25 PM UTC
the yellow sun
was shining down
on grass and sand and waves
it was a place
where children went
to laugh
and dance
and
play.
as molly ran
and wandered off
she found a magic thing
a deep blue house
carved out of stone
in which the wind
would sing.
the other children
climbed about
and gazed into
the cave
and johnny said
“i’ll lead the way”
(because he was most brave)
and tad and tommy
followed him,
for they were big
and strong
while alice chose
to stay outside
but molly tagged along.
the dark was very chilly
and the silence, very wet
johnny shivered and looked back
but couldn’t leave
just yet.
now molly didn’t notice:
awe
and wonder
filled her eyes;
she found a solace
in the stillness,
comfort,
in the pitch black sky.
when suddenly, there came a rustle
from a hundred winged things
as dark as sin
with deep red eyes
shrieking
just like rusted swings.
tommy was the first one out
(his long legs made him fast)
then john and tad
ran into alice
and tumbled on the grass.
and when the world
had settled down,
the quiet had returned
they saw that one
was not around
and they became concerned.
but don’t you worry,
little molly
was fine as fine can be
as she uttered boldly to the dark:
“you never frightened me"
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
Their lips and memories soaking in *****
And dead intimacy that they try to revive.
Alcohol burns the throat, but numbs a heart’s bruise.
He drinks to flood his sober blues.
She peers into her cup and takes the dive.
Their lips and memories soaking in *****
Bodies twist together, as they confuse
Passion with a polluted *** drive.
Alcohol burns the throat, but numbs a heart’s bruise.
Loneliness tagged on their souls like tattoos,
But in a whiskey glass true love cannot thrive.
Their lips and memories soaking in *****
He counts the number of girls he screws.
She kisses in order to feel alive.
Alcohol burns the throat, but numbs a heart’s bruise.
No concern for dignity that they are eager to lose,
Artless *** as a means to survive.
Their lips and memories soaking in *****
Alcohol burns the throat, but numbs a heart’s bruise.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
i tagged a ride
up along side
the tail end of a lavender moonbeam
with nary a care
as it darts here and there
effortlessly moving on its nightly stream
i fashioned a kite
made from solar fire
stitched together with starlight dreams
in the design
of cloud #9
on the tail end of a lavender moonbeam
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
It's almost been one year since we began talking,
Since we said, "Hello" for the very first time;
And that is okay because we went out and we had a good thing going,
But on December 6th,
we were split up;
We didn't talk for months on end,
No, not until April 20th;
When you finally realized that I was not going anywhere,
And we both realized that we could no longer go on fighting;
Even after we started talking,
I disappeared for a week,
scaring everyone;
When I got back,
the first thing I did was come looking for you
to apologize for everything that happened;
I put the blame on you,
and we didn't really talk again until July 28th;
When I put something about abortion on my Instagram story,
and I tagged you in it;
You were confused on why I did that,
I was freaking out about your reaction;
Once I explained what it was about,
We then had a four-hour conversation;
It started at 10 pm and ended at 2 am,
The longest we ever talked since December 6th;
And from that moment on,
We became better friends;
A friendship that once was something more,
Something that turned out not to be quite right;
Something that turned out not to work out,
Turned out that we just needed to work things out;
Two people who tried to be something great,
Wanted something different;
Would finally realize later on,
That it would be better if they were
new and improved;
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
a love poem, of new & old,
why I am the summer-man!^
summer is winding down,
sky’s multi blues freezer safe stored in ziplock see thru bags,
marked and named by hue, the where and the when,
so when the eyes finally fail, when the squinting don’t help,
when the good things those good blues aroused,
poems, lush and morning thanks for being alive come-not-at-all,
quite the opposite, these cold blues
may help, to recall why it was worth breathing
summer is winding down,
so am I, the synchrony no accident, time,
the Pharmacy kitchen calendar
claiming another victim, willing or not,
those cars and the blue eyed models,
are now but blurred wishes and hopes, even these words, spoken,
not finger scribed, for the keyboard a
jumbled jungle of alpha-numerical
of confusion hellish and
my sons don’t come to clean up my pathetic messes, sending
their little children, beloved concubines of my heart
the daytime watcher, spanglish her native lingo,
tho single words she’s pretty good at too, but that don’t help much;
the grands, toddlers to pre-teens, the eldest a womanly eight,
tries but soon frustration bored, slips away quiet like
replacing her with her two year old sister, who knows her alphabet
which ain’t an exactly a help, but her five pencils stored^ nearby,
tagged with her name, awaiting her poems, her one true legacy
try to imagine her as a grandmother, farseeing the day when she
occupied this too too hard to-get-out-of-by-myself “easy” chair,
making rhymes with her next-next generational descendants,
faint remembering the silliness sorcery that I secreted in her brain;
zingo, bingo, lingo
tango, ginkgo, jingo,
** ** oh no, oh no!
ashes, gray hairy poppy is a silly,
when he is not a grumpy,
old man all fall down!
which she acts out with giggles galore,
adding a teacup embellishment,
a creme fraiche pearly teeth smile topping,
the day watcher agrees, verrry verrry funny,
but time to me *** and take a needed morning *****
no poppy! no poppy! no poppy!
no nap, no *** no *****
thinking the call out is for her,
stomping her feet in an alternating rhythm and rhymes
I, happy poppy, ecstatics drooling out,
foreseeing the rhyme is strong in her,
get wheeled away crinkled and crackling,
*zingo, bingo, lingo
tango, ginkgo, jingo
** ** oh no, oh no!
ashes gray hairy poppy is a silly,
when he is not a grumpy,
old man all fall down!*
a new genre me of gibberish summertime love poems
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 5:11 PM UTC
Have you ever made a pit stop on the road to success,
to just sit and marvel at the gifts of the ghetto?
Like the individually wrapped Treats that are left about.
have you seen the gum plastered across pavements,
the tagged up scenes...
all of these things.
The **** that people tend to turn their nose up to
is the most beautiful to me.
it reminds me of where I am and fuels me to reach for where I want to be.
Broken sidewalks, broken homes
babies out hustlin' to make their own.
For as long as I can remember,
this is all I've known
this is the land that I call home.
city buses and ratchet fights
****** scenes in broad daylight
beautiful ugliness at my eyesight
but it all pushes me to get it right.
Land of promises
Land of fame
home to Hollywood
and making a name
it is also home to heartache
and home of pain.
but if I must refrain..
If you make a pit stop on the road to success
and marvel at the ghetto
you'd realize you are blessed.
-ari b
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
Sa paraang iyan nila kami pinatatahimik, pinapatay, at tinatapos.
Baril ang kanilang sagot sa aming sigaw,
Sigaw para sa karapatan at bayan,
Bayang aming pinaglilingkuran.
Hindi pa ba kayo naalarma?
Na mismong makabagong bayani na ang pinapatay nila,
Mga bayaning halos walang pahinga,
Mapagaling lang nila tayo mula sa pandemya.
Pandemyang naglabas ng baho nilang mga nasa itaas,
At kanilang mga hindi pagiging patas,
Mga taong lantarang lumalabag sa batas,
Malaya pa rin at nakikinabang sa ating kaban.
Kaban na pinagnanakawan,
Bilyong utang,
Na tayong simpleng mamamayan ang magbabayad,
Magbabayad sa inutang na hindi naman natin napakinabangan.
Ilang inosenteng buhay pa ba ang mawawala,
Bago ka tumigil sa pagsuporta sa tuta ng Tsina,
Sa mga tangang namamahala,
Sa mga taong walang hiya.
Gising mga bulag!
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 7:10 AM UTC
By herself in the dark with nothing at heart,
being so smart only plays a small part.
Take it back to start and place your mark
on the people, the faces, the parties, the places.
Tighten up your laces, we got a few more bases
but she's stuck in that stasis.
Memories fade like a fragrance
so of course the pain gets
too much to handle.
Too much flame and not enough candle.
Burn bright and burn hot
for everything we've fought.
All that you've sought is the only thing I've got.
*Beyond an open book
they're just pages on the floor,
you can give 'em a look
if you know what you're searching for
there's a fine line between flowing and bleeding,
an even thinner one between knowing and believing
and **** near none at all between showing and deceiving*
Every rose has its thorn but she's just a dandelion
so I blew her mind
to watch her thoughts start flying.
It's all water under the bridge now,
but I'll throw you off and burn that bridge down.
I don't want you to drown...
just want to see if your ability to sink or swim kicks in.
I only took your breath away to watch you suffocate,
but I keep hearing you wheezing
like your barely even breathing.
So deceiving,
are you walking away?
Or just leaving?
Forever is the word he tagged on the walls in her mind,
so she walked those halls
with a bucket of paint thinner and hand full of time.
Her walls are too thick too strong with all that brick
maybe a lil acid will do the trick.
But he only came equipped
with some elbow grease and lil bit of spit...
The voice in his head whispered
"Now get to work kid"
So he did;
and never learned when to quit.
Sep 17, 2011
Sep 17, 2011 at 9:42 PM UTC
When we are born there are hopes and dreams,
On the path we follow, enemies are made,
Cruelty forced upon us, tearing at our seams
The existence of the world is enveloped in flames, fire and decay.
Everywhere we turn – a wasteland waves,
Isolated, ruined, desolate
Negativity runs deep, tagged metal in their waist bands
The urge to be free, unchained, untagged.
Meadows of green grass and daisies and yellow roses,
towering the shadows, no worries about,
Winter creeps; silently, swiftly, suavely. Now
an ocean of black roses remain in power.
Oh colourful canvas, how beautiful you used to be,
Now you’re smothered in the greyness of despair,
An intimidation of words aggressively written,
And the pain never ends
That desperate wish that someone could care!
This noose I tie is never tied tight enough,
The glistening light shivers a hope for eternal sleep
Such a shame the cut never succeeds
And an only friend has gone
Facebook, MySpace, Twitter;
He made himself the target and ****** in,
He took their advice, took the bullet,
Their words are a complete and utter sin
My, my it was that hilarious! Honestly.
The world corrupt, no social networks,
What a laugh it was; all fits and giggles
The importance never occurred
We- the kids of this generation- know nothing
but how to navigate the internet
Them- the adults of the era- that want the best
ignorant to the life on the information highway
This world is changing,
This world is ending,
This society, will become my newest nightmare
This society, will become your newest warfare
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.' -W.S Mervin, Separation.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC
It's duller now
I only see you in my suggested friends list... or in tagged posts.
Or in your sister's comment threads.
But I still remember when seeing you on my timeline made me burn up. At first it was ginger, spicy and sweet. Talking to you made me feel like I had the universe in my head; probably because you told me you were studying the string theory and you knew how stars formed.
After a while I didn't feel a burn anymore. I didn't feel anything in my head except empty and I didn't know how to remedy it, except by putting all of myself towards keeping you from feeling the same. I lost myself; you found me, absorbed my strength, and said you had none to give back when I needed it.
The night you tried to **** yourself wasn't ginger, cayenne, or even the weak sting of crushed black pepper. It was pure peppermint oil: molten silver and acidic. I have no other words for it. It hurt almost as bad as when, after weeks of not knowing if you were dead or alive, you texted me.
"So, your cousin is pretty amazing... we've only been talking a week but I think I'm in love with her?"
That was cayenne...
But now I guess I've built up a tolerance.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
I am a woman. I can be all by myself
I am equal to a ‘man’
I don’t need anybody to look after me
I need no man to hold my hand.
I am a woman. I am tender, not fragile
I can indulge in all life has to offer and intensely feel all the emotions
I have strength tenfold. I can fight for my freedoms and rights
Nothing can restrict me from fulfilling my dreams and aspirations.
I am a woman. I bleed red
Grievous cramps drag me closer to death, and still, I put up a smile
It is pride, no shame. I bleed to create the world.
Even if I am tagged ‘impure’, I am not going to smother behind the veil
I am a woman. I deserve to be treated with respect
I will never settle for less, in equality I believe
I am neither born to satisfy a man’s hunger nor to be a victim of dominance
Instead, I am born to be a woman of my choice.
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 11:14 AM UTC
That familiar sound of a helicopter approaching
out of nowhere its search light focused.
Down onto a desolute and lonely moorland
quickly joined by a second one.
But what is the true intention of their task
as a figure looks up wearing a mask.
No ordinary being sitting there in isolation
as soldiers approach with guns.
Nearby a circular craft of unknown origin
lays damaged amongst the grass.
Away from the view of a watching public
the covert operation is slick.
Taken alive the alien is roughly removed
put into a third chopper nearby.
Two other bodies are bagged and tagged
the sight is cleared of any evidence.
Reports of an object seen falling denied
once again the military have lied.
How many incidents have really occured
the public know nothing about?
The real truth of an extra terrestial existence
rather than endless misinformation.
Was Roswell fact or fiction what is area fifty one
when will the real truth be done?
The Foureyed Poet. The Foureyed Poet
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 3:46 PM UTC
When Buddha closed his eyes
He did not speak
Bystander tagged him
See what the attitude
The next moment
On opening his eyes
He got glow in his face
Bystander
Got no words to say
Bowed their heads
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 9:09 PM UTC
A nobler king had never breath--
I say it now, and said it then.
Who weds with such is wed till death
And wedded stays in Heaven. Amen.
(And oh, the shirts of linen-lawn,
And all the armor, tagged and tied,
And church on Sundays, dusk and dawn.
And bed a thing to kneel beside!)
The bravest one stood tall above
The rest, and watched me as a light.
I heard and heard them talk of love;
I'd naught to do but think, at night.
The bravest man has littlest brains;
That chalky fool from Astolat
With all her dying and her pains!--
Thank God, I helped him over that.
I found him not unfair to see--
I like a man with peppered hair!
And thus it came about. Ah, me,
Tristram was busied otherwhere....
A nobler king had never breath--
I say it now, and said it then.
Who weds with such is wed till death
And wedded stays in Heaven. Amen.
3.3k
Who can tell?
Whether malice has its own purity?
If odor has its own fragrant smell?
Does right wrong right
Or wrong right wrong?
Could darkness have its own light?
What do you know?
Guilt might have its own innocence
For all you know
Humility and modesty
Could just be a show
This is how life is
You either laugh hard
Or you cry in pain
You love too much
Or you die in vain
If you don’t make someone smile
You end up being a bore
If you dress up too guile
You are tagged a *****
You may be very pretty
but deceitful in act
You may be called ugly
but are beautiful in fact
In sadness
you’re creative
In happiness
well that is tentative
and yet sans it too
you may appear narrative
If you know too much
you realize how less you knew
If you are too ignorant
you realize that all lies are just few
Humor shames trivialities
Irony is the truth about absurdities
We scorn at all harsh realities
So we smile at its mockeries
Could love really be true?
And hatred absolutely false?
Is sadness a gloom
Covered in joy so sparse
like a dull audience
forced in its applause?
Without a doubt
A truth has a lie hidden
Simply because
The mirror isn’t clear
It hides many flaws
and your aesthetic sin
deep within
If you counted the seconds
and minutes and the hours
Will you still be wasting time?
Or would you still
have to make an orange juice
out of a dainty lime?
What’s rhetoric
if a question has an answer
if silence it’s own message
and guns and bullets
its own power?
What’s the point
If you’re devising a plan
for your future
to become a big man
And you still say
that you don’t know
what might happen tomorrow
That it all looks bleak and dark
And you sit there
not working hard
you crib and worry
and fake a smile
to everyone
you appear
as blithe as a lark
We dwell with glee
In a world where
two extremes meet
Order deals with its chaos
And chaos struggles for order
Everyone fights
for the latter
And to straighten
an imbalanced balance
and dispel a dulcet clatter.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 6:26 AM UTC
Byron and I play
The All Topics Open.
Eighteen holes
Invariably draws nostalgic.
Byron mentioned he went to the WWF in Detroit.
I sliced into a childhood memory
Of midgets at Cobo Hall:
Cobo Hall, Saturday Night. Be there!
Byron started pitching old wrestlers and holds:
Leaping Larry Shane, great with the Anaconda Vice;
Killer Kowalski vs. Bobo Brazil, pinned by the Crucifix and Abdominal Stretch;
**** the Bruiser* tagging with The Sheik
To defeat Gorgeous George and Crybaby McCarthy.
Byron went on in detail, with tabernacle authority:
“It was a Bear Hug that quickly swung in to a Quarter,
then Half,
then Full Nelson;
Crybaby bounced off a knee,
Was driven to the mat and pinned
By a Front Sleeper.”
(Jimmy's newborn picture faded in,
and the pose he naturally struck
baby arms
cocked like a sideshow muscle man
Daddy quipped: **** the Bruiser*.
I was Leaping Larry Shane.
Daddy quipped: Larry the Stooge.
I didn't see that move)
Byron was intense. I could hear, but
I was zoning.
Crybaby and Front Sleeper dazed me.
How time Venns.
I was pinned today.
I recognized the feeling.
Tagged, then pinned by
The inescapable
Baby Nelson.
You know the hold.
On your back.
Baby on chest, face down.
Pinned.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
Do you remember that time of innocence?
When the horrors of the world were invisible,
and you were so much more than invincible?
Do you remember when you didn't doubt for a second that you were amazing?
When you wore those "crazy" things,
And sung at the top of your lungs, unashamed?
Do you remember when you raced outside at every opportunity?
When catching fireflies were the only thing you could think about in the summer,
Other than swimming in the open sea?
Do you remember when laughing came so easily?
When you didn't catch the naughty things in kids tv programs,
And when you had a million perfect life plans?
Do you remember when you woke up early, because you couldn't wait for the day?
When you spoke so fast, because there wasn't enough time,
And when you created a trillion random things, because you wanted to?
Do you remember dancing, or bobbing your head to some random tune in your head?
When you ran out into the rain, without shame,
And screamed until your lungs ached?
Do you remember when you learned everything, and wanted to still know more?
When you were so proud of getting one thing right,
And not caring if you weren't perfect?
Do you remember watching your older siblings, or grown-ups do things, that made you say "I can't wait until I grow up!"?
When you loved yourself, without a doubt,
And had the power to do anything, or be anyone?
I do.
And I wish I could have all of that innocence, and freedom back.
I wish that openness, and self-love had transferred into my more mature life.
I wish that nonchalant way of doing everything had stayed.
I wish that careless way of dancing and singing had tagged along.
I wish that I had stayed carefree for longer, instead of quickly becoming cynical, and depressed.
I wish that I had never pushed to be a part of the grown-up conversations.
I wish that I had never rushed into intimacy.
I wish that I had held onto my wildest dreams.
Because, now,
I regret every time I said
"I can't wait until I grow up!",
Because each time I said those words aloud,
Its pushed me further away from my imagination and wilderness faster, and harsher.
Because each time I said those words, and every single adult around me said that I should hold on to my childhood,
I replied with anger and irritation, not knowing the hell that I was rushing into.
I want to go back,
Don't you?
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
You are true to your roots and delicious to boot,
You’re a sweet potato.
No fear to shed skin, to reveal what’s within,
You’re a sweet potato.
Years and years I’ve never fit in and I’ve
Never felt right and I always stuck out and
I learned how to speak for myself, how to shut people
Down before they have time to get down
Up real close and see
The real me.
And now tragedy strikes and I feel all alone,
But not all is lost, I am now on my own
And am getting quite better day after day,
I find that it’s easier to smile these days.
And then you come along, you delicate treat, and
You flip, trip, and sweep me right off of my feet and I
Usually always can keep my balance but
Now I can’t help but fall down.
But I see now that you’ve stuck around.
You’ve bagged me and tagged me,
You’re taking me home, and I
Just simply cannot wait.
Can we go to concerts and movies and drive-ins
And dances and nightclubs and can we go hiding
Around in the dark just to find one another again?
But it won’t be the same, will it then?
Nothing can compare to that warm, glowing stare
That you gave me when you had my sweater on.
There’s no one that it could look better on.
This is all so ridiculous, crazy, not planned,
But aren’t those the best things around these here lands?
It’s fast, it’s exciting, it’s scary, and yet…
I don’t want a life that’s devoid of it.
There’s something about your hair.
There’s something about your eyes.
There’s something about you, sweetness,
That I’d like to make all mine.
How could you have been here this whole time,
Right under my nose and I had never known
That a goddess, a genius, my dream girl had seen
Me from afar and saw something that she liked.
I’m clumsy, not skinny, I’m awkward and weird,
But I don’t feel a need to hide it.
Because I know you’ll just stand beside it.
Hold my hand and be there to guide it along on
Wherever this twisted road takes us.
And I smile when I hear or say, “us”;
Even though we just met, I feel like I’ve known you
For a long, long while.
It’s easy to make you smile…
It’s easy for me to smile when I hear your voice or
Look at your face and I can’t believe my luck.
I don’t care if it rains, because all I need is to hear from you
And everything feels like sunshine.
I’ve struck gold, diamond, oil, I’m rich with
Deep conversations to come over coffee.
Whipped cream and sugar and talking.
I’ve read many books but I can’t remember the last time
I’ve been so interested in a novel like this.
Your brain is a book, your prose on it’s pages.
Can I add to your Table of Contents?
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
All...that sparkles,
Glimmers
Gleams
Shimmers it seems,
Remarkable
Spark
Not just jewellery,
There are
Gems,
who are people,
can't be worn,
can't be bought,
can't be tagged...
So you will know,
if you have to ask
the Creator may
take you to task,
as they are priceless.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
I saw 13 black crows as black as 3AM
and as big as vultures eyes
with wings hanging to their sides like laundry on the line
they were standing in a circle letting their tongues dry
they’re coming for me like thieves or ghosts
stealing songs, and whispering poems to themselves
about nonsense and existence
I don’t want to die
I saw 4 black eagles, with horns growing towards the ground
like columns or anchors reaching for the bottom
their feathers folded like hands on a man resting in his coffin
bending over each other rattling my bones
drumming out the answers in ways I will need one day
their hooves are giving me growing pains
I sleep like a tornado
I saw 18 black hawks, with beaks full of teeth
roaring like a pack of wolves in perfect V
with hoods over their eyes to cover up what they’ve seen
secrets bouncing off the insides of their lips meant for me
they landed on my life like spears, ears tucked back like arrow feathers
wings spread wide like storm clouds over kansas
hailing on me teaching me their dances, they gave me armor
we will never die, we will never die, I don’t want to die, we will never die
we will never die, but we don’t want to try, I don’t want to die, I won’t let you die
we will never die, we won’t even try, but if we never die, then we never really live
I saw 9 black owls, they were quiet as death
they had talons like antlers growing from their hearts
and they were tearing me apart
each bird was tagged like cattle with one word
and they burned them in to my mind...they read
you have never lived because you have never died
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 11:09 PM UTC
Everything she writes is tagged
#DEPRESSION
You break my heart, know.
Even with these chemical
bonds holding me together,
these frail spiderwebs
weaving around ventricles,
you shatter them like a
calm breeze, playing child,
a secret told to the wrong set of ears.
The characters in (y)our plays [on words]
are the crux of (y)our matters.
We're all ancillary like stepping stones;
pity (y)our destination begs leaving
no stone unturned.
My stepping stones are tablets, though.
20mg doses of baby steps,
crossing voids like I see in (y)our eyes.
My mouth is cavernous,
my throat the steps to hell
(wide and steep and too easy to trip down).
Each night - a crusade to save me.
Each morning - a body count.
One. Good enough for me.
Each time I sign on - the body count grows.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC