Archive for April, 2010

Floating By

Posted in poetry with tags , , on April 30, 2010 by Shadow

In a square room,
arms wrapped tightly
around the chest and locked,
the white walls bear symetrical patterns
of injury proof buttons that keep
the foam padding
from falling.

The sterilized individual
doesn’t see the bees on the flowers
or the clouds forming images in the sky;
she doesn’t see children playing in the street
and she doesn’t see baseball games
where people are cheering.

The light never goes out
and the screams never stop;
she only sees the outlines of
the floaters floating by
in her eyes.

Ghost

Posted in prose, writing with tags on April 29, 2010 by Shadow

Towards the north end of the property a shadow sometimes passes that does not coincide with the passing of the full moon. The shadow is the ghost of an old man. Rumor has it that this ghost perpetually glides over the grasses hoping for a chance to outwit those that attempt to pursue him, for he knows he is about to be hung. His problem is that he is only witness to a murder, but has been wrongfully sentenced to death. He knows the bloodthirsty prosecution will not bend in their judgments, and to escape the prying jaws of mortality, he seeks to elude the authorities by making crafty movement among the trees and bushes until they pass by. The day of his execution a dog had found him and he was taken to that very tree where the wind sometimes blows the moaning sound of his expiration, and now his ghost is dumbstruck and caught between worlds thinking he can somehow hide from his fate.

I felt this ghost one night. I went to the tree to observe the strange markings told to be seen only by moonlight. I stood and a chill shot through my spine unlike any other, and I knew, I could feel the presence there before me. Unknown to such phantoms of feeling, I bolted with great fear, back to the house where my family would await to hear my fantastical story. As I approached I noticed a strange difference in the nuance of light emitting from one of the lower level windows, a light that seemed somehow slightly brighter than the rest. Struck by this detail I headed in this direction with the intention of ascertaining the reason. Instead of going in through the front door I went to the window to peer in, where I saw the spectacle that sent me shivering: I, myself, was in the room.

My father was watching as my mother was on the brink of plunging a great knife into me where I lie on the couch, and I became edgy with fear and cried out at this perfidious display. But my effort came to no avail, for my voice was not heard, though I thought for a second, my father turned and looked out the window. Before long my scream pierced the room as the hand of my mother’s rose high into the air, then plunged the silvery blade into my chest.

Why was I outside? Was I dead?

Why did my father not prevent the ghastly act?

Nothing became of my mother for she wore strange fragrances and utilized potions for as long as I could remember; she’d simply vanished. When I ran around the house to enter, all was dark and not a drop of life stirred. The hallway was empty and the low howl of the wind penetrated the silence. Before long I felt the presence I’d felt out by the north end of the property, and I shivered with biting fear, for I perceived I was not alone; the dreadful presence had followed me. I hid in a closet where I might find some safety, and soon, footsteps could be heard entering the room, slowly, one by one. I kept the door open with just a slight crack that I might discern the nature of the intruder. Clip, clop, clip, clop. In time the moon lit onto the face of one morbid and white, with eyes of coal and skin of pale like that of a corpse, and the features were of a haunting familiarity, for the features were that of none other than my father, wandering around the room as though looking for something.

Only Until I Die

Posted in poetry, prose with tags on April 25, 2010 by Shadow

How long can this last?

Why couldn’t I have her?

I think about her over and over again, and all I can see is my hideous figure, my deformity.

I wish I could say to her that I love her, I want to, but all I can see are the pains and the miseries of rejection.

How long can a loveless life last?

The ones who exist will come for me and they will take me away, and I had hoped that my guardian angel would find me and save me.

But if I thought I was going to be free, I found the abandonment as painful as the freedom.

Does one know how long this can last?

Do people love the disfigured?

I’ll just wait and watch until the day when the weight of my sorrows complete their work, when I can be a part of the earth without memory, the public burial.

But until then, how long can this pain last?

Only until I die.

Froth

Posted in poetry with tags , on April 24, 2010 by Shadow

Needles and spoons and bubbly drugs
He felt good until he felt bad
He went out and searched
All around all the town
And found more stuff from the thugs

Family vanished and left him for dead
He felt nothing not even the dread
His friends were the pains
The misery of the plan
The plan that would bring his deathbed

In the alley, naked without cloth
He lied with his eyes rolled
His memory erased
His life ends thus doth
From his mouth escaped the blood froth

Feast

Posted in poetry on April 22, 2010 by Shadow

Around the edges of the dug grave
The worms lie waiting for the feast
Fresh the skin now lost of life
The redness in the cheeks
Turn to biting ice

Soil snuffs the nose and plugs
Eyes once viewing of the world
Into the many orifices
Squirming bugs crawl living
To satisfy the most divine law

No challenges await, the hole is filled
The rigor blends with the earth
Soon teeth and bone will only stay
And keep the superstitious away
From soul of whereabouts none know

All delight, enamored by the feast
The feast for worms of fleshly treat
Jellied odor of dissipating blood
Death’s bell for the hungry slivering
A feast of flesh for the worms

Desert

Posted in poetry, prose, writing with tags on April 22, 2010 by Shadow

The desert is a vast open space where the vitality to live is a rare occurrence.

Death comes to those who venture into the desert.

The bones of dead animals lay scattered in various places.

When one traverses the desert, false images taunt one with the hope that life will come for them, but it never does.

Insects crawl upon the desert floor, hiding the secret of living from the unwary traveler caught beneath the blistering sun.

White light blinds and exhaustion exceeds the desire, and the sand invades the mouth until the last of life is extinguished.

Forgotten, destitute, failed, denied, the desire to live vanishes amid the hallucinations of the angels circling above.

When the vultures come, the wide eyed stare of the dead comforts them.

The meal that is my flesh satisfies their depraved appetites.

Time passes and my hopes become one with the rotted bones of long past.

No one knows, no one ever finds me, dead in the desert that is my mind.

Drawn

Posted in poetry with tags , , on April 20, 2010 by Shadow

Pulled by the gravity of pain
Decided upon by death’s grip
Obliterated by the lonely hours
My soul is drawn to the grave

Each hour, each festering hour
Is the eternity of what will come
Is the eternity of what was
Is the eternity what forever is

In the spaces I see the shadows
The lost, the unloved eyes
Cold and vindictive by life’s
Eternal sea of shame

Each second, each festering second
Is the needle that punctures my skin
Is the knife that severs my flesh
Is the blade that slices my limbs

Drawn by the false promise
Of hope that things will change
My need to quell desperation
Is cured by taking your happiness