Jun 30, 2013

Who?




Chase another hard bitter pill with a glass of

warm milk you’ve fetched yourself when bedridden

feverish and ill,

the night is long, long enough

for the dark to fold you in the hurricane of your

black casket thoughts



No one will find you.



Lost. Deep in your troublesome, tormented mind,

deep in your cursing, riddled fears,

whirling mercilessly down, where hope sown in the bleeding

womb of your sadness will never grow.

Down, under, beneath all what seems, what is, and what might.

Where none of your virtues can draw enough breath to dive

Where murky waters surround you and the

stink of your unforgiving past fills your lungs, where venom fangs in

the enormous jaw of silence opens to swallow you

a knife of doubt, sharp and jagged, slices your bones

your flesh lashed with the burning iron rod of your fascist anger,

the firm hand of your sadist hate, your cauldron wicked pride whips you hard,


Struggle.


An ogre vacuum of shame, widow weeping guilt will pull you fast

the cold cruel hand smothering your faint gasped breath will never stop
abusing you. 

Don’t scream, don’t beg, don’t reach your desperate bony claw

mouth open in horror, eyes white with fear



Who?

Who will ever love you now?