You won’t live forever.
No one is made for all those eyes
Boring into the soul of you
So that all you are is a fragment
Of what you once were.
You can only go downhill
Compete with the old you.
The face at least.
Because they won’t see your growth
Just the lines etched on your skin
And your desperate attempts to plump them out.
Make yourself stay in the light.
For who are you really when the screen is off?
When no one is looking?
Soon they won’t care and you will have to answer that question.
All on your own.
Have you grown?
Or are you just over the hill?
There’s a market today
In this sweltering heat
There is a market.
Hundreds of parcels wrapped in brown paper
Spoiling in the sun.
The smell of rotting meat is not imagined
Nor the little drops of crimson seeping down the shelves.
There is a market today. And everyday.
With pieces of me sold at too low a price
To people who don’t value my meat.
Not in this heat.
Just promise me you won’t be cruel
When the time comes to sever these threads
You won’t turn us to shreds.
I look at your face as I lie on your chest
And hope for the best.
But I’ve done this before
And the cut was pure gore, sore.
Please. Please. No more.
So be gentle as you are now
When you lick my leg
Make me beg.
Promise that when you no longer long for this touch
That when I don’t mean much
Just promise you’ll be kind.
And I promise I won’t linger
I won’t be a loser
If I have proper closure.
Originally posted Sept 2017
From now on I will give you a moment.
Only one moment each day.
A pause of equal measure.
Pain and pleasure.
You caused me both.
I will play devil’s advocate to my own heart
Set the balance straight.
I am a Libra after all.
But you have put me out of kilter
With your scorpio sting.
So I will go on living. Give it all I have.
Wake from the dream and the nightmare.
But I promise you a time each day
Because I’m loyal that way.
I think I died
Because I no longer hear your breath when I sleep
Or feel the rough edges of your face in my palm
Nor the smooth sphere of your head against my neck.
I must be dead. I must be.
Because only there I can find an explanation for why your heart doesn’t thud against my skin.
But I’m not in heaven.
I’m caught with just a whisper of you in my ears.
Wondering where I am buried or why you’re so grave.
I’m still unsure.
So I wander. I wander and wait.
Set me free. Set me straight.
Tell me the truth. Please be true.
Did I really die. Or did you ?
It will eat you up
It will swallow you up
Careful now because you will appear the same
But inside you will be gone.
The old you.
The light you. The bright you.
You keep skirting the edges and you will get sucked in.
But this time the worm will be gone
And you will be suspended
A lie is an airbubble.
Small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things
But in my skin
It goes to the heart.
This beating ball of mush not muscle.
What does it feel like this toy ?
You play with its softness much too much
But a lump will form.
A callous from your callousness
Borne of things unsaid and left to fester in this tangled web of all the things I can only doubt.
I screamed once but now my blood is pooled and cooled and I can only whimper and even that is hushed.
“Oh well.” You said “That’s just the way I am.”
And I suppose I can’t blame the gun when I know it was made of others hands.
Let me not become your weapon.
Let me not shoot indiscriminately because I have been cut.
Bend the butt.
Turn inwards in retrospect and be better this time.