Tag Archives: needle

left in stitches

my father sat beside me

and his eyes were in stitches.

i fidgeted, and touched the linoleum floor

with my cold bare feet;

my father didn’t say a word.

he merely stared at me with needle looks

threading unspoken thoughts over and

under my skin in tight crisscrosses.

i flinched, once again, and my feet instinctively

twitched to graze the floor, but i only

felt frigid air and a million miles of

nothingness beneath my cold bare feet.

i was starting to bleed profusely

and my numb fingers were convulsing

from the relentless tingling that was

overtaking every inch of my

breaking-down body

and still, i didn’t have a clue on

what was happening to me.

i tried to call out for help

but, it seemed that my crying mouth

was already sewn shut, and

my father was embroidering his

guilt and blame on my face,

cast fault and lost sins forming eternal

patterns of this knitted contrition,

writing down personal confessions

that were not even mine to begin with

and will never be mine to keep.

my eyes were slowly shutting now.

and with the last strength that i could

muster up within me, i pleaded silently with

my father, screaming “what have i done to you?”

but my father, with his eyes in stitches

and his love for me trapped in a needlepoint,

he finally looked away and murmured

“what have you done to yourself?”

i think i may have shed a tear (or lint?)

before the last of my vision was tied off

and i was nothing but endless unraveling threads—

i woke up quietly crying and suffocated

by my blanket, feeling soft prickles on the

numb arm i accidentally slept on.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Needle and Thread

You watch me bleed until I can’t breathe
I’m shaking, falling onto my knees
And now that I’m without your kisses
I’ll be needing stitches…

~*~

It’s all I can do to move past the stark vitriol and hurt

When you dragged me backwards teeth-first, down into the dirt

Like it even mattered which side you and I were even on

Because in the end, I always lost—and you always won

My mouth was full of roses when you started to bleed

Inject the venom straight in my veins, isn’t that what you need?

The morphine leaves my eyes dry and my heart feeling numb

But the side effects were fatal, my breaths tried not to succumb

To the excruciating pain everywhere that refused to wear off

When I kicked back on withdrawals, I screamed my throat rough

I begged it all away for the sake of a higher intake glucose

But the saline dripping turned to rivers of a medicated overdose

Are you satisfied now, medical man, after all that you’ve done?

Should’ve smothered my face with a pillow instead, it’s easier to flatline

But you fooled me into liking torture, even got the signature for my consent

So I can’t blame your hospitality for drowning me under hard cement

Now it’s all I can do to bandage my wounds and lick on the healing pain

Sew my unraveling stitches until empty black holes are all that ever remain

And it never mattered which side was playing the victor and the victim

Because in the end, you will never lose—and I will never win.

~*~

I’m tripping over myself
Aching, begging you to come help
And now that I’m without your kisses
I’ll be needing stitches…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Mister Doctor Man, How Much For An Autopsy?

I’m Mr. Doctor Man who questions his hands
Lost his mind, but clinically fine
But he found a way to cope, needle in his throat
Falling down, but the world is spinning round
And round, he knows…

~*~

Your arcane consonance is another memory in my eyes

Candelabras, needles, and shale skin is what’s left of me

Sabotaging the magnitude, time is but another simple lie

I’ll be the sick boy soldier patching up your indigo eternity

.

But don’t count me out like the silver glitter in your dress

I may be a fair firmament forecast, but you’re a bad omen

Perhaps your vignettes are perverse, and I’m lost in senses

Remnants of irrational contusions, in a masquerade pretend

.

My artful catastrophe is another remembrance in colder eyes

Chandeliers, syringes, and shallow flesh was what’s left of you

Serrated mutinous, time is but another complicated way to die

You’ll be the sad girl doctor breaking down my lavender infinity.

~*~

Honestly, it’s running through my veins
You see? I don’t need their surgeries
I just wanna breathe; they’re coming after me…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

cliffhanger

is it bad that

i left the end

hanging by a

thread to see

who would be

pricked by the

needle, who’d

bleed for me?

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry