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
For war, Word or ward Odor of war Draw forward. Do for war A wood arrow draw Or wood oar Draw forward. Word of war Roar raw ward Offroad or radar Draw forward.
From an Ampersand Poetry & Prompts Anagrammatical Prompt. Check out the Ampersand Site Here
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.
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.
Among The Coals
Born in the hazed amber I was swaddled and charred. Another faceless giver In a faceless sea Waiting to choke
Tarred and Feathered
Inhale, hold, exhale Self inflicted. Slowly pluck feathers spring chickens Cluck no more - cough - cough - Burn one more Spark up
Science is unwelcome It's unholy. Innovation is unholy It's unwelcome. Dunk the witch She'll float Burn the witch She'll choke
She's gasping again Under the wildfire. Mother Earth gasps Inland on avocado smoke While you're eating Avocado on toast
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?