Category: Poetry

The Guilt of Premeditated Murder

At first I felt nothing, which

You know I never feel.

I seemed heartless, I was cold.

I know how I looked to you, I know how you felt.

I lived inside that nothing and felt blessed by that nothing and at first, I was safe.

 

But memories started invading like

Nasty little soldiers, pinning medals to their chests for

Every knife they put through me,

And dear,

They fought so valiantly.

 

My heart no longer feels nothing.

This is being exposed, shell upside down, soft pink flesh turned to the sun.

This is the real pain, the

Hurting you.

How Lonely Life Is

Things I can’t even confess

Whispered underneath my breath,

For fear that once they’ve been professed

Will manifest and manifest.

 

Shall I hide beneath my shame?

Cower when I hear my name?

The weight of worth and sting of blame

Two hurts that hit me just the same.

 

Secrets driven to my chest,

They cower, cornered, in distress;

Forever doomed to ream regress,

How lonely life is when depressed.

Sacred

A stutter of stenciled stars like

Burgeoning works of art

From between my legs;

No thought given to basic space-

The light of morning

Illuminating the sacred on my face.

Pleasure’s always been man’s best escape,

But is it really magic to

Only momentarily erase

All else besides this perfect state?

Emptiness

My mother said sometimes the voids left

When we take terrible things out of our lives

Are worse than the things themselves.

We desperately try to fill them up;

Actively seek out ways to feel whole again,

Even if for a moment we know we’ll regret.

My mother said when we let go of horrible things

We have to be careful with the emptiness

They leave behind.