Do you have to scrub your skin too? Scratch off it’s surface over and over Until twenty burning layers away From the tracks of unwanted caress? Remember as the acid seeps through And you lose that arrogant composure, That I am only just beginning to play With these things that helps me ‘process.’ Have you ever had to show your face When no-one knows the predator won? Force a smile, a dead eyed, dull grin, Hoping when friends hug you don’t flinch. Centre of the tooth, with nerve in place, I’ll drill a hole through every single one, Thread through each a fine steel string To pull them slow with a hand crank winch. When you’ve walked passed each other Have you been filled with complete terror? Did you grasp tightly at your fabric clothes As though they’ll protect from the shame? It’s so gratifying to watch as you suffer. The chemicals turned your skin to leather It’s time to cut that wailing tongue into rows I hope I don’t strike a vein, I like this game. Does the night bring back all the memories That weigh you down with its terrifying grip? Do you hope that by the morning sunrise Your heart would stop it’s painful beating? I’d quit the whining, there are no remedies As I watch you choke behind glued lips. I can’t stand to be devoured by your eyes But a pin prick will remove their seeing. Are your days filled with asking why? Blaming yourself for being the prey, Breaking yourself down ‘til you barely exist Pretending it never hurt you that much. I’m sure you’re all but ready to die? But you don’t look like your inner decay! I’ll let you decompose in your own shit Because a touch is not just a touch.
I’m faithless and unashamed
For God did not give us grief.
Love manipulated our trust
So that chance could gamble
With the futility of our existence,
Ripping the tense velcro bonds
Of hearts grown together.
I applaud it’s gamesmanship,
For it doesn’t laude it in our faces
By any means other than simply
Gathering the grim and gaunt
In coats of greyed gaberdine.
Long coats hanging as if empty,
Made black from the heart’s rain.
I am faithless and entirely alone,
But still gesticulating to the air:
An open chested final demand
To give back the gift of grief
That greeted me at this graveside.
Need I be a god-fearing glossolalist
To return this heartbreak?
My Dearest Armistead, I hate saying you were right, But you were. The smile on my face Was a temporary mask That has been peeling away Ever so slowly. My insecurity has bled through The white linen robes of my naivete And caused me to run to dark corners To bleach them clean before anyone sees them. Perhaps one could blame Our re-acquaintance; Nonetheless, I fear this feeling, It, would be dreadfully lonely without you. My eyes feel extremely drowsy, But they are failing to rest. My mind feels heavy and intoxicated By the recurring nightmare of emotion, It haunts my every waking hour. And my heart is too preoccupied With its' reminiscing Wo live with the rest of me. Armistead, You have trailed us back Through every corner of our suffering And imagined them feats of ink. Do you not see these moments Are open wounds? They are the episodes in our life That we wrap up in neat little stories To hide the scars they are transcribed with. Yet, for some reason, I have removed the bandages And allowed you to lick and To gorge at the fresh lacerations. That grief you see Sat upon my shoulders It is ours to share. Are you prepared to split the burden? Because Armistead, It will continue to grow. Lovingly, Armistead
Come take a seat with Mrs Delora. Find the answers to your questions, Discover your truths, Explore your future, And marvel at her talents. But, beware, You may find more than you seek, You may learn more than you need, And you may leave... Liberated! I took the man up on his offer, And sat on a stool inside the tent. Across the large wooden table Sat a Fortune teller Drowning in hemp cloth And gold charms. Her face was haggard, As if she had seen a thousand lifetimes. Her breath, strained and heavy, And the smell of stale smoke, Mixed with burnt herbs choked my lungs. She placed her hand out on the table, And coughed, wordlessly Demanding my hand in hers. In my open palm she placed a red stone, And closed my fingers tight. Are you a whore child? I gasped, offended, A whore! How dare she! I guess you’re just promiscuous, Don’t be offended, I’m just teasing, child. She started laughing, Throaty and coarse she cackled. But her humour was fugacious. You’ll be barren of life, You’ll just be a stand in, A temporary. Her words spun around my head, As they tightened the garotte Around my throat, Pulling burning breaths And twisting them under my tongue. Would you like some tea? It helps with the truth, Makes it palatable… I sip the mossy coloured liquid, It burns my mouth, But I can breathe again. I can breathe much slower, Pulling air deeply Into my famished lungs. Yes child, that’s it, Breathe. I nod, and bare my hand, The red stone in my open palm, It was tinged with black, Like a plague was spreading Tainting its surface. You won’t have to worry, You’ll not be left a spinster, You’ll be left, Penniless, naked, Alone in a ditch. Wha… Wha… The words slur incomplete. My breath long but shallow, My eyes open, Unblinking. Just breathe, Let Mrs Delora liberate you, Come take a seat with Mrs Delora. Find the answers to your questions, Discover your truths, Explore your future, And marvel at her talents. But, beware, You may find more than you seek, You may learn more than you need, And you may leave... Liberated!
Folded delicately in the corner of the room, Limbs collapsed around each other, Coordinated in the most triumphant defeat, And holding the empty treasure chest loosely. The corner is dark. Perched gently upon trembling limbs, Facing introspectively, hiding from sight, But searching for the last piece of gold, Or the last diamond hidden inside. The corner is dark and lonely. Holding up the crumbled shell, Two porcelain feet jut out, The tips curled over and cramped, But not strained by its empty container. The corner is dark, lonely, and cold.
Company used to hold such value. People were so inexplicably important. Yet I'm in my little haven. Snippets of conversations, here and there, With select individuals, a chosen few. My blissful isolation, my sweet little home. I can truly relax and be the real me
I stand tall at 5 foot 5 inches short. Weighed down by the grief, The struggling torment of loss. The guilt of having helped, Aided so inadequately. I stand tall at 5 foot 0 inches short. Stunted by the childless womb That I coldly and selfishly bare. The sin of youthful carelessness Stripping my claim of having mothered. I stand at 4 foot 7 inches short, only. Shrunk by the burning depression That I can't seem to kick. My only employment today Is self-hatred and tears. I rest at 4 foot 2 inches short, roughly. Dragged down by hatred, The ostracization of my true self. Unaccounted for in my mistakes, Not responsible for my choices. I stand, cowering at 1 foot. Not so tall now. Life, I screwed up, Beat myself down.
Glass in hand, Tongue in mouth, A poor excuse for an escape. Glass in hand, Liquor in mouth, One fine way to drown it out. Glass in hand, Mind still thinks, Maybe a bit faster will help. Glass in hand, Eyes glaze out, More is needed to settle. Glass in hand, Thoughts command, Just swallow pride before this one.
Glass on lip, Eyes closed, One more breath to swallow. Glass on deck, Another in mind, Perhaps the thought will stop. Glass on lip, Liquor tips, The heart begins to race Glass on deck, Burning neck, Just one more to ease the pain. Glass on lip, Feelings split. It's time. To have another.