Edited the poem twice so far, felt there was parts that dragged it. I feel its more fluid like now. Break ups suck.
There’s a fire in my stomach
And a weight on my chest
Blood in my throat
And pain in my neck
When we met, she had pretty lips,
Button nose, and large eyes,
Where I swear, stars hide
Masking her hard life.
She was hunger pains
And I was her pair of slit wrists;
It’s the nature of the beast.
The nature of my disease,
Display it in microfiche
Impatient the darkness pleads
So it can depart released.
She folds her cards,
I fold her origami
We were both broken folks,
I’m on the ropes,
And she attacks with the force of Ali.
Bop and weave,
Bop and weave,
You got no time to stop and grieve
Lost in these
Oddities
You have no time to stop and breathe
See, she was a damsel in distress
And I was her beast with three heads
Who reels in regrets,
Reveals his defects
Who needs a recess
And fiends a reset
Of peace when we met.
She was my guest of honour
And I was happily
Her Thanksgiving Turkey
Carve me,
Harm me,
Fifteen slices on three
I’m her zombie
Whose heart is off beat
And as black as her coffee.
So here,
Take these razor blades and play
The violin on my heart strings
Of all the pretty dark things
Knitting their sharp jinx.
I’m hurtin’ bad,
Covered in purple scabs
I heard her laugh
And cursed the past
Travelling the Wordsmith path,
Trying to find the purpose that purpose has
But
No laughing, what?
Pass the buck
And drink a cup of dragon’s blood
A maso-cust with graphic cuffs
And bastard’s luck
Drunk
Off caffeine cups.
She was Gabe’s trumpet
And I a fly of Beelzebub,
Who fiends this love
To feel its buzz
And weaned off lust,
Screamed and fussed,
The pieces lost
To feed the thoughts
Of how
He’s a nut!
Friends telling me
“Dude, just paint a smile on”
The silence born and living well
Revealing our fears.
With kindness gone,
We try to soar,
No this aint Hell,
But you can see it from here.
And I’m going through withdrawals,
See I put it all on the line
And won’t hang up till Cthulu calls.
A porcelain doll
Vs.
A puppet on a toy train
Weeping, depressed
With no one to pull his strings
Watch me
Sleep in my mess.
My God she was a pagan goddess
And I her burnt offering dude
I call for you,
And the awful truth,
Is what I did, do, and done
Was all for you.
Still feeling inadequately adequate,
Let’s pick at our tips till our fingers trail blood.
See this?
This is reminiscent of Slick Rick’s Teenage Love
But I know pain,
And I know pain
And sometimes
I share it with someone like you.
The embodiment of perfection,
“Sorry…” she says,
“Just try to remember, it’s not you…”
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