"uncaps" poems
He was walking home
Ticked off with a broken nose
They stole his things
And with no shame
Left cuts and bruises
Head to toe covering him
No one gets his mind
No one really tries
He hides in the closet
When he gets home
In fear of his intoxicated father
His leather belt
Swinging from his fist
The boy cries in bitter isolation
He can't trust anyone
With no safty
He fears for his life
His mother was killed when he was five
Nine years later
He just wants to die
Multiple times he's tried
Every one of them
He survived
His wrists bleed for releaf
His skin pulls tight
Then it's released
He tiptoes out of his room
This for the last time
His father asleep in the chair
He looked pail
His chest barely moving
If you weren't paying attention
You might think he was dead
The boy got an idea
Such a melancholy idea
He went in to his father's quarters
Peaking under the bed
There lay a box full
Unsold meds
A knife in the kitchen would be his weapon
Nothing but a sigh let out
His father was soon to be no more
His heart pounded
His mind thundered
With anger and pride
"This is for Mom!"
He screamed with tears in his eyes
A knife to the chest
He fought the man
Pushing further and harder
He worked fast
The eyes glazed over
Both fear and joy filling his heart
Into the bathtub
Pills in hand
He turns on the water
He uncaps the bottle
Putting it to his lips
Up turned
He sinks down
Letting the drugs take their toll
Gone
******
Suicide
This was the price
For freedom
For justice
Mar 5, 2021
Mar 5, 2021 at 5:27 AM UTC
The traveler swayed from side to side
His bounty slung heavy on his shoulder
His shadow long and eastward strewn
An ambiguous gait and pallor
His toes dragging to a straight-legged stomp
His head heavy in thought and thirst
He uncaps his flask to wet his mouth
Almost falling to the ground face first
His journey is long and his pace is quick
For a while he rests on a stone
He sets down his bag of merchandise
Unaware he’s no longer alone
A rustle in the bushes alerts his attention
He stiffens and draws his blade
An attack from the forest—a black hooded rogue
A battle for his life is waged
He dodges an arrow and avoids a knife
He lunges with his faithful steel
Slicing through air he draws first blood
And snickers with a menacing leer
A powerful kick sends him back
This carnage will end in the mud
A thunderous jump—ribs snap in their cage
Gasping through grimace and blood
His pace was quick but not quick enough
To escape from his earthly fate
For smite rained down like heaven’s hammer
And punished his life of hate
This ambush was long ago forecast
When his soul morphed into black
At first only slightly but then almost nightly
As he engorged his poisoned sack
Madness enveloped his meager soul
And gnarled evil on his face
The trophies he stole in a heap of haste
Stirred dangerous men to give chase
Now he gasped through spit and blood
Finally paying his overdue arrears
Falling from his clasp to the ground in a mess
Were hundreds of severed ears
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 5:15 PM UTC
Looking in the mirror she uncaps her marker
She leans forward a bit and begins to draw
Curving her hips into the frame of an hourglass
Pretty at last
Drawing long black hair, soft to the touch
It still isn't enough
She draws a bigger bottom
She's almost got it
She draws thinner legs, with a thigh gap
How about that?
She draws smaller arms, ones that don't jiggle
And a teeny tiny middle
The picture in the mirror is who she wants to be
But it isn't what she sees
She hits the mirror, with all her strength
She regrets it but its too late
Blood is spilling out of her hand
As she does it over and over again
Broken shards lying on her bedroom floor
She hits the mirror just once more
Once last time she gazes at her reflection
Please, pretty girl, see your perfection
Know that the picture you drew
Is not you
And if it was you would be the same
Love yourself, don't be so ashamed
You're beautiful
Write that on your mirror
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 3:34 AM UTC
when I carriage returns too soon
and my fingers get numb oh well
and I don't realize MY CAPS LOCK IS ON
or I try to figure my debts up and the num lock ain't on
or I tab when I should not indent
or mmy keyboard
the m locks up
cause I mmighta spilt beer on it again
and mmy mmouse goes crazy for another window
and I type half this there
I think
it might be timme for bed
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 5:43 AM UTC
there will always be
someone who picks up
a cigarette
after eight years of hiding them
locked up in the bottom drawer
there will always be
someone who uncaps
a beer
after four months of listening
to the words of their daughter
there will always be
someone who goes back
to a lover
after a time they thought was an eternity
of forgetting them, moving on from them,
when really nothing has changed
and the progress they thought they had made
was nothing
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
_Trigger warning: Self harm, cutting, substance abuse_
the ceaseless agony
she endures and endures and endures....
until the burdens force her knees to give
everything weighs so heavily on her
and in her desperation
what else could a suffering mind do
but frantically seek refuge
earnestly pursuing escape....
the meds aren't enough
the pain cuts through them
so she wonders....
how many could she take?
two... three little white pills?
might it help?
she knows they'd notice the missing bottles
but she longs for a heavy intoxication
a dumb bliss
a few hours of happiness
let the pain melt away
replace it with stupor
so she considers lesser options
she could binge eat for mild pleasure
intertwined with heavy guilt
she could **** herself
oh right.... she can't because of the meds
nothing else offers her any feeling
she seeks emotionally charged art
music, poetry, shows
but it's not enough
it's never enough
so, in her desperation
when all else has failed
when the agony is unbearable
no solace in sight
she opens the drawer
in the safety of her room
uncaps her tool
sterilizes the edge
sets the metal to her skin
and drags it across
'til she drips red
Nov 15, 2019
Nov 15, 2019 at 11:03 PM UTC