lost
Unfelt
Two Headed Monster
A Sigh’s Autograph
I use to languish in the polygon of my weeping mind
I thirst for the fragments of my anguish to mold my center
I use to sulk inside myself and drink the wine of selfishness
I sunk my teeth into the dejection
I use to dwell in the camouflage and sink in my words
I swam in the black river under the oppression
I use to neglect faith and drown in the empty tear ducts
I fell into the depths of silence
I use to grieve in the awaken sadness and never sleep
I felt the last breath deceive me
I use to shed my dead skin in the morning to erase the gloomy nights
I carried a chain of misery
I use to gasp at the hollowness and gazed at the autograph
I refused to stare at the nemesis
I saw the signature and found it revolting
A transformation within shouted
If I Could Run Away
If I could run away
I’d join a flying circus
Chat with the lions
Chant with the crowd
Joke with the clowns
Dance with the acrobats
Crawl with the trapeze artists
Hide with the magician
Wrestle with the roar of the tiger
Walk with the Bear
Fall in love with the sideshow
Sit between the caramel apples
and the cotton candy
If I could run away
It wouldn’t solve any of my problems
Check out my books!
Fallen Between the Cracks
Constantly disoriented
frozen whispers speak to me
A deep hunger
to be understood
An appetite
to be stirred by intimacy
No one cares
No one shows it
Efforts are fallen between
the cracks
No one hears me
No one listens
Distorted perception wakens
This is my canvas
Only a writer, a poet,
will gravitate to my words
To everyone else
I am not here
Lost Goodbye
No verses can disguise
the barbwire truth
Furious on the inside
Depression settles like dust
A intact plan merges
Ignoring my needs
Methodical and analytical
Reread the chorus
Every day was an opportunity
you threw away to show me
Nothing will prepare you
for what I’m about to do….
Chestnut Street (Braeden’s Writing Challenge #2)
Staring into the
desolate snow globe
watching my brittle
tears howl from the chair
Craving novacane for
my anorexic heart
Gravitating to the infection
that is soaking to
my sensitive past
Refusing to retrace
my footsteps of
Chestnut street
Tangled ghosts weave
through out my
strewed mind
Only to see a glimpse
of a debilitating disease
Concentrating on the
disappearing inner tyke
Becoming a nomad within
Placing my hands in my
ragged and faded jeans
trying to capture the light
of playing hopscotch
No matter how many times
I seek the clarity and purity
of my jagged youth
Chestnut Street is just a sign
on a ten foot pole
*Laurel has asked me to use this street name for the Challenge.
Sunless Soliloquy
The stench will never disappear. I sit here in agony replaying the years in my head. I stare into the pitch black and contemplating the decisions that I have made in my colorful life. I was a jester. I have discarded all the useful cards in the deck only leaving myself with only a few to hold in my tired hands. I steer away from the root. I run away from the tears that refuse to see the sun. I was the fool in believing in the word forever. You took me for granted. I took you for granted. You didn’t have the ability to own up in your own mistakes. You chose to be stagnant. I thought I was the infant in this relationship. I took my vows seriously. My heart is full of mush, layers of sensitivity, and the cream you find in the center of a donut. I wanted more. I craved depth. I took responsibility of my actions. I stumbled away shapeless seeking the truth. I am a lost soul. All I can see is a twinkling light. I will find my way out. If there is one thing I do well it’s being persistent. Nobody will tell me I can’t do something.
Loneliness on a Death Bed
Exchanging blows
Trouncing the integrity
Parading with clout
Testifying with a punch
Ruthless and cold
Clobbering with animosity
Losing perspective
Gaining self worth
Sitting on a Island
without a blanket of protection
Circling apathy
with loneliness on a death bed
Persecuting myself
Questioning my beliefs
Constantly defending my being
Slowly giving up to society’s views
Dark Wild
Beneath the clutter
and the discolored anxiety
the war between us continues
Engulfed by the
fractured promises
Gobbled up by the
untamed distance
Dwelling in the dusk
crawling through the
dark wild
Regurgitated phrases
of shades of love
Acknowledging the
hardened suffering
Stomaching the
patronizing goodbyes
Inhaling your desolate
and sinister perfume
Sucking and gulping
your mocking remarks
Withstanding your
arrogance and malicious core
Underneath the deceased
your stigma withers
Alligator Juice
Ribs shook
Teeth chattered
A swig of Alligator Juice
Testing intestinal fortitude
Crying Esophagus
Liquid to soothe the deserted soul
Reviving the hostile lungs
Defining the edges and nerves
Overtaken by the emptiness
As he fills his stomach
with acidic Alligator Juice
The Bottomless Crutch
Pouring down overused mentalities
Change fumbling around
Pulling four quarters to insert
in the old fashioned jukebox
Numbers exchanged between
the mentalist and the statue
Between the shot glass
and the pint of a Irish stout
Scattered observations are slurred
Tip toeing through the cigar vapors
and the barking stilettos
Polluted with aggravation’s
and lipstick smudges on the glass
Empty barstools are playing violins
Loneliness waits for no one
Be careful where you drown
your heartache and sorrows
Look up at the glaring neon sign
The Bottomless crutch
Linger Longer Lane (Braeden’s Writing Challenge #2)
Treading in galoshes
Up stream and down hill
Never ending miles
Tangled up in procrastination
Knee deep in the weeds
Under a bellowing sky
Destinations creep
Wearing a hundred pound
Black as night raincoat
Seeking answers
But caught lingering
Searching for light
But longing for security
Only drops of gloom
follow me on the dirt path
to Linger Longer Lane
Overkilling Abundance
Stench of Loneliness
I wish
I could cough up
the self hatred
from my lungs
I wish
I could remove
the stench of
loneliness
from my skin
I wish
I could wash
the scorching anger
from my eyes
I wish
I could be someone
other than myself