At the Gates

The exclusive rights to grief were taken:
Shouted from lips that could never be kind, 
Painted on a face that had never seen, 
Twisted in the belief of false guiltlessness, 
And pointed at the remaining husk of me. 
The cold iron gates stood heavy in judgement, 
Separated the self-righteous from the sinner.
The one heart that beat love to both sides, 
A heart once so swollen and overflown 
That it willed there to be a second pulse, 
Had burst its banks and bled out silently.

Emptiness is the disease that devours joy,
Turning time into a weapon of contagion
Until we're all wasted and spent in heaps
Of decaying flesh and worthless broken bones.
A death lived and re-lived in cyclical attack, 
Feeding on the casualties that too have fallen
Into the welcoming arms of temptations Union.
When those gates sighed their disapproval
How sweet was that call to be swallowed whole
By the ravishing teeth of an irreversible vice
And no longer be blamed by that judgement.
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Thames Gin Headache

Chipped polish on keratin
Formed instruments of misery
Against the carved ivory candlestick,
But played in time and one half
Between clicked wooden heels
And shuffle scuffed leather toes. 
Shrieking warped wood boards
Bemoaned the restless pacing
Until eased by the storm’s drippings
Rolled from the oversaturated linen.

Youth kept the nightdress white,
Precisely creased on double pleat
Perfumed in almond and rice starch.
The insipidness of immaturity
Creeped up the ironed dart lines
To satiate the linen’s thirst for spoil,
And seeped into the recurring path
In a bogged mix of clay and blood.
The sludge had smudged the vows
Between the ruby and diamond ring.

Lightning had taken exception,
Or so it would have seemed,
To the metal cockerel above the well.
It’s striking boldly lit the sodden grass
To illuminate a solitary jacquard spat
Encased, leather, side button boot.
He’d sworn himself inconspicuous once,
Yet adorned himself so pretentiously
For the eyes of the unwed maidens
On the night he was intended to wed.

The dusty manor house windows
Did not hide the ostentatious footwear
From the overwhelmed on looker
As she bit her nails cuticle bare.
Had he simply fallen, she’d be asleep
For the drunkard had overindulged
On pints of overtaxed Thames Gin.
But he cracked his crown on limestone
Before his legs lost the ability to hold
His brainless form to full attention.

Inebriation settled most heavily
In the bones of his shaking wheeze.
Had not the split of his mindless skull
Incapacitated his conscious movement,
His well wished departure would be,
To the greatest of detest and chagrin,
Replaced by opiate coma numbing
As his bride rode Peeler’s prize
In a carted cage of lucid lunacy
And cursed language of wicked folk.

Luck had been her bedfellow,
Strength her mightiest gift giver,
And determination: her kind muse.
No sooner could he groan in ache
Than his moaning was quick silenced 
In the crunch of crumbled spine
That met with a barren dark age well.
Her hand warmed by the liquid wax,
She stopped pacing to reflect with joy
At the sickening sound of lifelessness.

Indescribable

If it were only possible,
I would put it in a way,
A concise, simple way,
Then you'd understand.
Then you'd know the fear,
Of drowning with no water,
When no droplets are present.
Of feeling the air, empty,
Leave your lungs,
With no replacement breath.
Then you'd see,
That black shroud of an umbrella,
I carry around with me.
It doesn't close, won't or can't.
I'm always under its covers.
Then you'd notice it,
When the sun shines through,
I reach for it, try to grab it.
But also how I hurt,
When I can't take any with me.
How terrible it is to see joy,
Knowing how good it feels,
But no feeling it.

Then you'd feel the terror,
The pure horror of loneliness.
The madness it ensues,
The longing it forms inside.
But also the pain it causes,
When the mind turns to itself,
Filled only with hate,
Wishing for pain. Then the guilt,
Not for sin, for selfishness.
Knowing others would be better
At living this life than you,
And yet, wanting so badly,
Not to have it anymore.

Where

Where should I stand,
In the corner?
Head bowed
Trying to prove my guilty side,
That it was always right?

Where should I stand?
Behind the pews?
Hands clasped
Asking for forgiveness from a god
That I never believed.

Where should I stand?
In the middle of the ocean?
Chest tight
Breath choked out of my lungs,
like the truth.

Where should I stand?
On a sandy beach?
Toes spread
Celebrating my only victory of
Conquering my own mind.

Where should I stand?
Before your eyes?
Nervous - shaking
Waiting to be judged - scolded,
Applauded - hated - loved.

Where do I stand?