Poison. A poem.

Your words are poison
Entering my ears, seeping to my brain
Flowing through arteries, capillaries and veins
To my torso, arms and legs and beyond
Sapping my strength, dropping me to my knees
Feeding my ever-present pain, drawing forth tears
That return your bitter poison to the earth beneath my feet

Another dark poem. Some day I’ll write a happy one. Just not right now.

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Time’s Up. A poem.

I am a stupid man, a stubborn man

I’m waiting for you to come to me
To extend a hand (‘save me’, he cries)
But will I reject you, will I turn away
As I have before?

(so many times before, always repeating the same old mistakes, cap in hand, then ‘no thanks, i’m okay, I can manage, I can do this alone, I don’t need your help’, can’t you see that he’s drowning)

What makes it so hard to take your proffered hand
To swallow my pride and let you in
To stop HATING myself
To stop KILLING myself
Every NIGHT and every DAY

(every heartbeat, every notion, every teardrop, just wash him clean so he can wake up and start the day again and maybe, just maybe, he can get through that day, then get through that night, rinse and repeat, again and again and again and again) 

I am a stupid man, a stubborn man

And I’m nearly done

Time’s up

 

Okay, this poem’s a bit dark. But then, I’m a pretty dark person. My poems reflect all aspects of me, not just the happy stuff. (‘Happy stuff?’ I hear you say. ‘When have you ever written happy poems?’ Good point. Scratch what I said earlier.)

Alone. A poem.

I am
always
Alone

Midnight wash me clean
For all my sins atone

I will
always be
Alone

Daylight, I’m a vacancy
Rent is always low

I am
and will
always be
Alone

Moonlight, occasional friend
Pithy remarks, then go

I have
and will
always be
Alone

I rest on laurels of silken sheets
Singularly enthroned

I have
I am
I will always be
Forever
Alone

Another Friday night, finds me alone.

Another lonely Friday night, and I compose another lonely poem. I like the visual, downward spiral.

Ghosts. A poem.

The house is empty now
But shadows whisper longingly
Faded images de-coupled
Waltzing to a memory

We walked here once
Now we are past tense
Conjoined in the dust mites
Holographic vestiges

The house breathes
In and out, submissive
Each breath synchronised
A myopic symphony

It remembers all too well
The agony and blame
Of souls sold to sadness
Anger, rage and pain


The skies give freely
And rain paints the grey
Metallic spectrum glistens
Tears on window panes

Long shall our ghosts walk here
Unfettered by these frames
Dwelling in forevermore
Long shall these ghosts remain


This poem came to me while I was on the loo (inspiring and a lttle gross). It’s a bit Poe-like, at times, I think. Wasn’t intentionally so.

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