There I am
In my bed in 2007
Wide awake
Again
Mentally writing a letter
To the one I loved
In 1990

And it's the perfect letter
Packed with well-crafted sentences
And skillful suggestions
Only I should have sent it
17 years ago

And once I am done with it
I decide to move on

So I start composing a message
For my best friend
A message that would mend everything
And save our friendship
If only I could send it
6 months ago

Well from
17 years
Down to
6 months
Is a huge improvement
Isn't it?

And on that thought
I am finally able
To find sleep

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

Post-coitum
You can't find that much love
In yourself
Anymore

And you wonder if love
Is just the need to mate
That comes when you're
ENDORPHIN-DEPRIVED

Or is there more?

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

I'm at the back of a frail Italian car
Reading next week's TV programs
And suddenly I find myself
On the road
On my knees
With a bump on my forehead
And a blood-spattered
Left hand

Then a man runs towards me and shouts
I'm an ambulanceman!
And suddenly I feel so lucky
Only I don't know yet
He's the one who just
Crushed our frail Italian car
With his big DS
And sent a thousand pieces of glass
Through my still innocent
Left hand

Today
When I look at my scars
I always wonder
What this left hand would look like
If it hadn't been crucified
At such a young age

So here's a good exercise for everyone
Look in the mirror
And try to figure out
What you would look like
If life had passed you by
Without scratching and cutting and burning
Without throwing you to your knees
Without knocking you out
Without digging its grooves
In you

Now I bet you don't want to look that smooth
Do you?

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

When I think of that girl
That girl I don't know
I wonder if anyone knew her, at all

I wonder who cared
Before she was taken

For, in pictures, her eyes looked glazed, prematurely
Her smile looked
Cut
As crooked as bangs

I can't help but wonder what happened, exactly
But, that is never my right to know

Nevertheless

Book deals will be made
Monsters are canonized
Evil is saved

When I think of that girl
I feel the ghost of a knot
In my stomach
A feeling that curls in the womb
A faint whisper of what her mom must have felt
The moment each part of it died

The feelings infused through the telephone line
Fed through that spiraling umbilical cord
She wanted to, but could not
Cut
If she tried

The feeling when they told her where the body was found
The implications of that
The same place had been searched days before
And, nothing

The feeling when they handed remains, wrapped in plastic
The ribbons, the knap sack, the bload-soaked jeans
The baby, the girl, the woman,
The end

The feeling of tragic, insensitive fame
Bodily swarmed by the buzzing well-wishers
With festering crockpots of simmering sympathy
When all you would crave is death's favor in you
To think that your flavor is sweeter
Than that which still clings to the vine
And, must be
Cut

They say she was quiet,
Reserved
That's the best they can do in her memory

She'll never be given a chance to change
I'm just guessing she didn't dress for Halloween
Is this what boiled the blood in their eyes?
Blood brothers, that took her for days at a time
Then before they wasted her, threw her like garbage
To the rock bed of a creek
There, killing all hope
Of an unlikely recovery


When I think of that girl
That girl we won't know
Sometimes, I cry out
Sometimes, I don't
But, always
Always
I am
Cut

I think the influence of TW is alienating me from general society. - to_dizzy

Creepy and subtle. I like it.

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

I'm going to stick to the creepy stuff because it seems to be where I'm creating my best poetry. So, here's a poem about "the rape of innocence." Try not to take it too literally...




Fall
In a park
A playground

The wind recalls laughter
Then, icy water rings my throat

Cold wind clinks the chains of the swings
That linked me, in theory
To safety

Instantly
The trees
Are so bare

The limbs are too bare

They feel too much air
Sure, all you can see
But, no one
Is there
To see

Just me

I remember

Washing the rust off
And, cooling the burn
From my hands
In a fountain
That never stopped churning

Clear water
That never stopped running

Now, foggy
And, frozen
And, groggy grey morning hung over
The dawn

I woke
With dry blood in my palm


Cold wind turns to steam

I'm dry, shivering leaves

And, I'm swung like a child

Then, flung to the reeds


I want to drift faster
Like Fall
To be knocked unconscious
Or, land on my haunches
And, run
Or hunker
And, hide
My wild looks from the sun

I want the air plucked from my breast
To run my fingers through the grass
Then, grasping, to tear out the roots
The dark clumps of soil
And, gasping, on boots
The dirt
Still wet
In my palms

Rare palms
I washed
In a fountain that runs
Though, no one is there

A fountain that cools
But, replenishes
Nothing

I still feel the blood
It's churning

And, running

There's no way to hide

"And don't call us Maltesers." - Marquis

So you're still half-virgin, eh?

"This future racing toward us paralyzes the wallet and the brain"

Pft!

You don't get a gash like that by being half a virgin - 'though she might've been attacked by a mad lumberjack.

Funny little goldfish
You used to
Whirl around
Spiral up and down
And eat your own crap
Playfully

But you've changed
The sparkles in your skin are gone
And you are stuck
To the inner surface of your tiny world
With slow moving eyes
Folded fins
And it seems you're trying
To breathe in the air

And now it's getting worse
You are flat on your back
Eyes and fins still
As I open your will
That says
I want to be buried at sea
You can have my shiny pebbles
And my bowl
And my memories

Well thank you
Funny little goldfish
But as much as I loved you
I think the loo will do
Unless I choose to turn you
Into a sushi or two

"This future racing toward us paralyzes the wallet and the brain"

Man o' days! Are you still being a little bitch about that time you tried to stick your baby wiener in my strawberry pie and I called you Little Jack Horner and told you to get your thumb out of me?

Of course my vagina dwarfs that thing! Criminy... I'd feel bad for a hedgehog with a package that small...

Ahhh-let it go...

"And don't call us Maltesers." - Marquis