I let you scar me in answer to an askless question. I revelled ingloriously as each misguided infliction scored my futile seekings. A major that played first through fifth in sweet disharmony and lines of minor indiscretion. Tartan lay across my skin in various stages of healing. I held gauze in my teeth as you layered Razor wire upon my wounds - how would I bleed if not by your hand? Bandaged in the unresolved then left to lick free the salt while watching your heels meet the horizon in goodbye
I saw the postured seating - face forward - chin up - But an empty plate for eating. Flies thrummed buzzing wings - hollowed out - dripping down - Feasting on the heartstrings. Your corpse used as a flower vase - water held - death dwelled - Adorned in maggot petal grace.
Ripped into strips of rough cut sinew Glittered in silver crisscross lines Ready to be dipped in thick glue And rebuilt layer by meticulous layer. This new shape is for the fickle faith That is chanted until made belief Or assumed to be the matter's fact - The curves are chosen in this lie To fit the outline it previously outgrew. The substance that the years cultivated Do not fulfill the quoted order of being So are left to rot in the garbage While the adhesive sets atop mourning To hide it from the surface view.
Known not as seed but seedling Etched in photographic memories That sear white hot in absent flesh. The body, too barren to hold onto What little life it longed to give love, Still scarred grievously in self-loathing. Small roots, that wished themselves To dig happiness from within fear, Found the ground soil to be lacking. But the sunlight would soon set, Bringing unfathomable darkness And cold typhoons of destruction. To compensate for the deficiency, The sapling clung to a cracking pot That recklessly scratched at itself. Soon the chippings stacked higher Than the edges had ever reached And the contents were strewn away. Wretched sorrow bled for hours Until the mud was thick as paste, Coating the future in a tacky glaze Of tormented jealousy and longing. No fruits or labors could bare bark Thick enough to be unfeeling. Other trees grew in orchards of poison, Their branches reaching outward, Upward to the glistening sun. How spiritless must this grove be To have only produced heartache In place of a vibrant linden tree.
Written to a picture prompt from the former Facebook group: Stardust Poetry
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 can stare you dead in the eye But only my hands are fixed in Jute. I play no longer as your equal In this demarcated, lonely space, But as your possession, obsessed. Today the lungs ferment a tartness That you’d planted years ago, But as I cough up curdled astringent So it may salve your wounds, I renounce my previous control And embrace your oblivion invitation.
These ribs need twisting until
This heart needs crushing until
These lungs need stretching until
This blood needs cleansing until
These nerves need burning until
This soul needs vilifying until
Pulled out and redeemed.
We got plastered on the mezzanine. Giving even less shits than before With cheap shots that burnt like kerosene Splitting prescription amphetamine Into servings of six, eight or four, We got plastered on the mezzanine. Supplementing lacking dopamine Pretending we wanted to feel more With cheap shots that burnt like kerosene On the childlike side of something-teen With store rooms of baggage to ignore We got plastered on the mezzanine. Steadily making more of a scene Baiting ourselves to even the score With cheap shots that burnt like kerosene These moments dipped light in sertraline Revisited in flashbacks galore We got plastered on the mezzanine. With cheap shots that burnt like kerosene
We never mastered houseplants. Above and beyond, but a foot to the left. A green thumb was never our best asset. If you didn't shoot, the leaves would be green. The potted plants thrived on the terrace: In the house they just repeatedly cried uncle, Their roots wiggling like an old b-movie. Do all new killers go blank in the stare? Gardening was worse than getting an instrument: Another substandard, low average hobby Intended to expand the pointless talking points. Maybe your urge is due to seasonal pollen? The effort level of the cactus was minimal. Yet in a humidity it was still kindling to burn. Should never have made them my central focus. The hardware store had a shovel clearance. I have to straighten literally anything out So I don't pace 'til the hour of judgement! You think I could pretend I wasn't here and hide? If you go down, will you bargain for my pardon?
Don’t pull the covers away; I’m not ready to face the world And all of its sharp edges. I’m warm under this comfort blanket, Safe under my safety net, Hidden from those peering, prying eyes. I’d rather be smothered in poly-cotton Than drown in the darkness out there. Don’t pull the covers away; I’m not prepared to face the world And all of its harsh voices. I’m calm under this comfort blanket, Safe under my safety net, Hidden from those intrusive, prying eyes. I’d rather be veiled in poly-cotton Than exposed the judgment out there. Don’t pull the covers away; I’m not equipped to face the world I’ll just crumple at its feet. I’m serene under this comfort blanket, Safe under my safety net, Here I cant be vilified for being. I’d rather be concealed in poly-cotton Than pretend I want to play this game.