Perpetual, an endless sojourn, a continuum of unknowing. This electric chair does not ease the time as much as I would like. The thoughts that spiral in my brain are currents playing havoc with the depths of perpetuity, every outcome … Continue reading The Chair. A poem.
I wish sometimes I could open my head, take a scalpel in hand and then operate. Remove all the things that I just love to hate: things that make me odd, or a little irate, all the shadows I jump … Continue reading Operation. A poem.
My memories and yours, burnt in effigy. They’re digital photos deleted from your phone. The flames lick at them, a contented aftertaste. They hang like meat, smoked and chargrilled. The funeral tailor delivers a final suit in charcoal. I write … Continue reading Effigy. A poem.
I can feel the jagged terrain of your knuckles on my face, the force of mountain slides delivered on winds of fury and ever-reckless contempt. Should I return the favour or turn the other cheek, as my saviour recommends? I’ll … Continue reading Punch Drunk. A poem.
Why do you care if I feel more pain than you? Your subtle glance in half-light, barely aware of my passing shadow. How far will your hurt take you back again to rile so hypocritically against the burgeoning gates? I … Continue reading Return to Form. A poem.
I stand before the hole that wouldst be my grave. Where sullen earth and tepid worms do cry and call to me, my ample soul. This grave I’ve dug to fit my fettered frame, denuded in the wintry night to … Continue reading Grave. A poem.
I Wonder What MY LIFE Would Have Been Like If I … Continue reading F$&@UP. A poem.
Here I am, brought to heel by poor choices and destiny, to learn a well-earned lesson of respect and humility. Here behind this concrete veil, my hope is born anew. All thin facade and curtain call, a life sentence, all … Continue reading Concrete. A poem.
My walls. Are. Black As oil and just as wet. Wet. … Continue reading My Black Walls. A poem.
Here I am, surrounded, my enemies on all sides. A pincer movement designed to take my pride. Am I not deserving of my pain? Am I not due comeuppance? I have unintentionally misled, miscommunicated my intent. I have been vain … Continue reading Surrounded. A poem.
Why do we hurt each other so? Why do we tear at our bones like brutal, savage, starving DOGS (begging and braying for blood) until all the meat and gristle is torn away and our ivory husks GLISTEN with the … Continue reading Feast. A poem.
When the bone wails in time to my beating, breaking heart, and the blood curdles along with my myopic tears. I will reach for thee and mark my emboldened flesh in your honour. I will scour my skin indelicately so … Continue reading Cut. A poem.
My heart was broken, and the pieces lay scattered across the floor like so much fractured crystal. It lay where it fell for days, weeks, months. I fixated on my shattered heart for a long time. Everywhere I looked, everywhere I walked, I was in danger of cutting myself on a fragment. Visitors and friends stepped delicately around the shards like navigating a minefield. Every once in a while I would think about tidying up. But the strewn slivers were a reminder both comforting and saddening. One day, I awoke to find the pieces were gone, as if they had … Continue reading Heartbreak. A prose poem.
Would that all these angry thoughts could energise me to action, rather than distraction. These angry thoughts, hiding fears and tears Everlasting. Continue reading Angry Thoughts. A poem.
My time Long past? And still, here I am The sun has not yet set Continue reading My Time. A poem.
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