Sickly Feelings

Forced meat shoved the bloated
Abdomen bursting the rot within
And the mouth goes frothing unleashed
The poison till shame has its way
In punishment the angel lands bleeding

Gutter scum festers boiling the brain
Like slime layers the insides of your
Heart pains the glorious scourge
Whip the lashing and the laughing
As death putrefies meaning and
Suffering sanctifies a purposeless life

Bludgeoned skulls litter the trash fields
Where loveless souls decay in scorching sun
Lights the darkness so that stains
Reveal crimes and rats scamper infested
Lice-riddled snatch for the spread
When the Devil arrives to spend
His discards for the luckless sucker

Crude mind game gut slicing the innards
Pour to the floor spatters the red dots drip
Blood gushing crimson trickle a lip’s edge
Like a maggot desires companionship
And a razor lacerates a wrist hoping
For rainbows of finality, the vaporizing dreams
Of a maturing child walking her
Last day to school before
The stifling terror of another day
Unleashes the violence of its fury

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Un-Alone

After traumatic events led to a major disorder in my thinking, something bizarre occurred. One day I found myself face-to-face with a doorway into another world; and yet, it was a doorway into my mind. I saw beings there that looked like people, and they saw me in return. I say they looked like people because in some ways, they were more like creatures, mutated forms mocking the shape of a human.

Being seen like this was jarring; startling. Their eyes felt like my eyes, as though I were watching myself. I felt fear, a fear they could grasp. I tried to cope, but a haunting sensation tore through me, the kind that told me I wasn’t important to anyone. The feeling was crippling and I wanted to hide, but wherever I tried to move to, their eyes followed me.

Time’s Up

What is that presence I feel?

I can barely make the image, my mind reeling from the exertion, from crushing the wine glass in my hand.

Crystal shards glimmer and sting, long and dripping blood streams trickling to the floor, and though I’m content with my bottled rage, I feel the presence, agitating the moment.

Who are you? Is there something I can help you with?

I had been recollecting my thoughts, gnashing my teeth, by the memories of an icy hatred, when I realized I wasn’t alone.

And as the blood dried I felt the truth working its deathlike fingers around my heart.

Had the years of my volatile shame taken form, by the sound of a midnight clock?

Could I no longer stay the shadow that bore — that amorphous emotionless shape — the weight of my infinite sins?

The Frayed Edges of Existence

Only one person can touch the heart, that person some call a soul mate. She’s the one you can tell, nothing else is as important, because the nights are hard to get through alone, or like, sometimes, it’s hard to make sense of my thoughts when she crosses my mind.

When fate enacted its charms, I was forced to go away, the complications so difficult to explain that an entire dissertation couldn’t cover the extent of what happened. Paradoxically, the simplest thing underscoring the whole of the matter, was how much I loved her.

An obstacle established, a circumstance pushing matters in a torrential way, a chain of events and the passing of time, and suddenly, my soul mate was gone. I had to imagine life without her, the possibility of kissing a complete stranger, someone I would never come to love, like I loved her.

The wind blows upon my path as I travel, until my bones turn to dust and I have to wonder. Why couldn’t the fates have had pity on me? Do the angels, at least, marvel at the strength it takes, to walk alone, without her? Is it a choice, that I choose to follow my path into the ice, where I finally come face-to-face with my demise, never knowing the reason why I was singled out?

Is that what I am then, a monster, forced to find someone else, when no one else will do? Having the strings that extended between you and I torn, was painful. Unresolved, I keep myself barred from the cold wind that freezes my face, bound to the isolation of the glacial path. Because where it leads me is irrelevant, for if you are not there, then where or who am I, but a weary traveler.

Unforgiven

You know them, because you pass them by all the time.
Straggled like the scattered fragments of broken glass,
They are noticeable only because you know,
How you have to go.

Some blend with the soiled walls of the street,
Since they are too thin to be seen,
Their wary eyes rounded by the reception
Of a thousand hateful looks.

Sometimes a cold breeze will graze the skin
Of cheeks beneath the look of a distant memory,
When the thought of reaching out to a hand, extended,
Dissipates in the tears of painful regret.

You’ve seen this person, struggling for a friend,
Desperate for affection, from saying the wrong thing,
From believing the wrong thought, never having known,
Until it was too late — and you have to keep going
Because you know the consequences,
Of sharing a passing smile.

Somewhere they’ll turn up for the ocean salts,
To absorb the wealth of their sorrows,
Where the earth will offer the solace
That another person simply cannot.

Waves will crush against the sand,
And the gulls will glide their airy flights,
Passing at times in front of the sun.

But when the frigid night arrives,
When the myriad stars rain down their hollow sounds,
Do they herald the shades of those who are forgotten,
Unforgiven?