The Note in the Box Under My Bed

You never came,

You never came,

You said you would

but you never came.

 

The blade was rusting,

I put it to use.

The liquid will seal this envelope.

 

There are bandages besides me,

a box of twenty and five.

Four would be enough,

but I’m cut on either side.

 

It isn’t deep

but it will be once

this note is hidden

inside my shoe?

under the bed?

where it can be easily found by you.

 

You could have come,

yesterday, today

and done what you promised to do.

 

But you chose to go

and leave behind

your clothes and your shoes

and oh! your razor too.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , ,

Hear Ye, Hear Ye.

This is a public declaration of my insanity.

I slit my vein to see my blood

was it white like he claimed it was?

He lied. It was crimson

copper and cold

Red metal that dripped on the sidewalk.

 

I stood on a banister

swaying with the wind

then walked on my tippy toes.

I could balance,

the one thing he said was missing in my life.

I didn’t fall on my face

like he said I would.

 

I crushed my fingers

by swinging a hammer,

he had said I didn’t have the strength to do it.

I did it and then proceeded

to my toes

My bones were weak, I was not.

 

The wind bit me, burnt me,

red, black and blue

purple around the edges.

He had said I was dead,

couldn’t feel anything,

I proved him right

by killing myself.

 

Now that I’m dead,

in a garbage heap

around the corner of the new movie theatre,

there’s a note in a box

right under my bed.

Read it, then call me crazy

call me insane.

Tagged , , , , , ,

Working Does This to Me

I’m at a payphone

trying to call home

now that you’ve locked me out the door.

 

I pay half the rent.

It just isn’t fair.

Tagged , , ,

Do you read my letters? Do you?

I write letters

on faded paper

 

pretending to work on a typewriter –

messy stains

click. clack. Ting.

 

They question me.

My sanity

 

She can not read.

(She’s dead)

(She’s dead)

 

Are you?

Then how do you speak to me?

I know no

necromancy.

Tagged , , , ,

Poison Poetry

Poison on the tip of your pen.

You suck it, savour

 

the bitter drug

It is the ink you write your

poems with.

 

It’s fatal, so you spew it

all over the world,

 

contaminate,

leave them to swill it,

drink it, die.

 

Your words a kiss

so simple, so sweet,

sugar, honey, love

death

Tagged , , ,

Protected:

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Globe Trotter

She painted maps on her arms,

Latitudes, longitudes, legends and symbols

Her eyes did all the traveling

Places she dreams of treading in ballet slippers

And yellow gum boots

She, her eyes, they swam

In the ocean, in tears, in a combination of guilt, regret, spilled blood.

The rivers are red, the cities dark

And borders, invisible, countries merging.

Her fingers tire, walking all day

Sao Paulo, Bombay, Normandy

Tagged , , ,