Tag Archives: plague

Cursed Land

Enduring stains

On their palms

Soil and mud

And the green

Of woven grass

Like agitated vipers

Silent warning

A hiss before

Soft flesh sinks

Into cold fang

Venomous desire

All-knowing

Crimson brown

Draws landscapes

Tasting famine

The plants starve

For fresh blood

For bodies to till

For man’s plague

To ravage and

Devastate all, until

All that’s left are

Old desert skies and

Enduring stains

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

The Division

Let me count the ways you kill me;

1.) You carved promises at the notches of my brittle bones, mercilessly enthralling and hypnotising me under the anaesthetic assurance that everything was fine, that I was fine, and that I wouldn’t ever have to destroy myself again; but all the while, you crushed the very foundations beneath my suspended feet and made heaven shatter all around me like an ethereal motion sickness. And as if that wasn’t enough, you set everything on fire and watched this wretched phoenix turn to listless ashes, never to rise again; a demented conflagration.

2.) You promised me for better or for worse, but as I tried to find new names for the shade of red in my lips, you forgot about the obscene sickness that’s violently heaving inside my compromised chest and without so much as a twinge of second chances or point-blank hesitation, you injected every indistinct symptom known and unknown to man, turning my shaky breaths to crystalline lilacs and my selfish ribs to impure glass. I asked for a cure, and instead I received a despicable panacea, a myriad riot of plagues that irreparably devastated my system, ripping me to irreversible shreds. “You can’t get hurt if all you feel is hurt, right?”

3.) I’ve got hands like houses, and you rejected my severed hospitality as you broke down every locked door and deceptive boundary like it was nothing; like I was nothing. I constantly find myself lost in complicated syncopes, as I’m trapped spiraling and crawling back to the same self-sustaining cycles of parabolic grief and hypertensive schizophrenia, predicting premonitions that never came true. This eternal winter freezing over my bloodline is stitched together by a million blizzards and snowstorms conspiring exquisitely at once, but this difficult tantrum of a weather is not a tribulation to you, is it? Your cold temper is intolerable, a thousand suns melding together and detonating convulsively in the empty vacuum of space, and there’s no one else around to hear me scream one last time. I wanted to burn. You took it too far.

4.) Were you even sorry? Did you even feel a single taste of contrition when you watched my starving, pathetic soul grapple for life at the very nave of that decimated altar, asking for the silhouetted universe to fall on my back so that it wouldn’t be my fault, nor yours, that everything got screwed over? Did you see what I’ve done, just so I wouldn’t be what you’ve become? I couldn’t find my way back on the ground, so I swallowed my pride like pried coffin nails for the sake of a more poignant memory to remember; retribution heals what time cannot. Yet now I close my reckless eyes and softly coalesce in sadistic plumes of the miserable discourse you call an intravenous love, and I beg, and I beg. Were you even sorry at all?

5.) You are me, and I am you. I have no one. You are no one. When you lived, I died; and when you died, I along with you. I called it genocide. They called it desperation. For I am me, and you are you. There was no one else. They called it suicide. I call it salvation.

Leave a comment

Filed under Prose

The Bulls Are In Broadway

Some people have it and other people don’t
You’ve been making some threats, got my name and address
I’m breaking habits you don’t want to know
Though I’m wearing my clothes feeling cold and exposed, yeah
Don’t say you miss me, you probably don’t
Well, I’ve been crossing some lines that most folks won’t…

~*~

This is the academy of wasting second chances

And the maggots in my eyes are drying up my tears

My intuition knocked itself out on cheap champagne

As the discourse turned to an allegory dance severe

.

It’s a sociogenic alacrity, and my dress is on too tight

But I’m far too smitten by repertoire to call it a night

So remind me again, what’s my capacity for secrets?

Tell me with a gun to my head and I swear I’ll keep it

.

My lips are shivering from these hemlock-laced canapes

So admonish me for all my bad manners and mistakes

I’ll just downplay the lust for another fractured spine

The consequence for saving the best for the worst lines

.

Mismatched manipulation, but they will take it in anyway

Blink back the altercations and accusations that ricochet

With a sympathetic sigh overstepping the plague’s carnage

Like finest red wine, tragedy gets better when it’s aged

.

This transition was intransigent, an accolade for incoherence

Bent backs turned upon lacquered lies and marble-carved doors

You don’t get to die on me, not after my life has taken the perfect end

So won’t you let write the last chapter on my unresponsive monitor?

~*~

Oh, don’t say you’re more than this or above all this
With your blah blah blah and all your friends
Don’t say you think you know, when you know you don’t
Because tonight the Bulls are in Brooklyn and you’re still at home!

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Your Trucker’s Hitch Is Sloppy

A free lesson on growing up make the best of their worst
And never compromise what you feel is right
I make a point to be powerful when I speak
Be the one to give them nightmares when they sleep
Never back down from anyone…

~*~

I’m spinning into retrograde motion

Falling apart as the ropes holding me back

Chafe my abrading skin in expelled dominion

I’m in the nadirs of another devilish attack

Feeling dysentery coursing in my bloated tongue

And sooner than later I’ll spit out the plague

In your eyes, and your grasp will slip on the rungs

Of your vicarious deception and mistakes

So rip apart the hatred that buries me

And I’ll be coming back from the dead for you

If there’s any way to bolster out the barrier

I’ll break you first and demolish until I come through.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

We Got That Fever Catching On

There’s a fire in my head
And it’s keeping me from getting out of bed
Take the TV, take the rest
All my riches for a vision and a quest…

~*~

I’ll hold you back

If the fever strikes

But rest assured

That these nights

Shall be mellow

As softest daisy

Cease all sorrow

For rose reverie

It’s not delusion

Simply blithe air

My companions

Would be spares

Do not turn yellow

As old bibliography

For on the morrow

You have no worry

The plague passes

Medicines battled

Retreats en passé

I will be Nightingale

I can hold you back

When fever strikes

For I am your cure

And I shall go fight.

~*~

I found out, I confused desire and control
And maybe nothing’s gonna save me
I’m in too deep, I cast the mould…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry