What the hell, they're just words.
Little stories, footprints in dust.
Consuming urge to shout, to plead,
Please don't passively nod, listen to me.
Java and watered down Jack,
Bars of isolation,
Shot glasses filled to the brim.
Unwittingly, my vulnerability gulped down,
Satisfying demented intent.
Razor tongue pierces bone,
Venom, spite, hate and loathe.
Voices drift over Hades' breeze,
Don't call me Persephone ...
No blood, no foul just emotional disease.
Apologies errily frothy,
Blame, argue, attack and blame.
Baptized in poison,
Starved for attention,
I'll make it up to you someday ...
You hear the voices,
Did they murder your conscience?
Or is it still tied to the clothes line out back?
Withering, weathered, worn ... no more.
Drowned in 150 proof, buried in coke, pills and pot.
Muffled demon laughter floats from beyond the veil,
Naiveté, undeserved trust.
Words filter down from on High,
Echoing through the hushed chamber ...
"Thou shalt not ..." No, your Honor, I won't (then again, I may).
"Thou must'nt ... "No, your Honor, I shan't (but I will).
"Dost thou understand ..." Yes, your Honor **shaking head in the negative**
"You have been warned, I don't want to see you here again."
You won't see me, I'm done ... Almost.
1 comment:
a friend and i were talking about the need to stop the toxic pole dance we were both on.
but the need has been there for a while.
and yes your honour i will stop.
not - just setting myself up for failure again.
and again. and again.
in the past when the seemingly same pattern emerged into solidity a day would dawn where i would suddenly find myself embracing purity. nothing but water for 30 days. body clean, mind devoid of repetititve static crackle. ah i have arrived. i know my god self.
and slowly, ever so slowly the pole winks to me from the field beyond - and i walk to her.
my oldest friend.
Post a Comment