The yellow bag at the back of the cupboard,
I find by chance; lucky I count myself,
Opened with mindsets of saving; for posterity,
Not long before that promise; broken was,
Empty, the bag; full a stomach of mine,
Emm Ann Emm, of peanuts born,
A savoury treat; chocolate covered,
A feast!
Note to self: well done! You managed to spend 41 hours of your life on a piece of sh1t writing which has no real meaning apart from keeping the educational system happy. 1502 words about what? AND YOU THINK YOU WILL EVER BE ABLE TO WRITE A BOOK? Your pace was 0.61 words per minute!! Next time, less planning and more writing, Okay?
No matter
No matter
The amount of candles lit
No matter
In the corners of the room; darkness persists
No matter
No matter
The traps laid to catch them
No matter
Bad thoughts return in hauntings
No matter
No matter
How painful the waking hours
No matter
The nothingness a blackened ocean
No matter
No matter
A mermaid’s smile in greeting
No matter
While flailing, sinking; without drowning
and when all was said and done,
before me; nothing remained,
just the wrapping of a packet of
Jammie Dodgers and the stains
of a bottle of Bordeaux,
evaporated I’d say; if you dared
asking
.
and when all was said and done,
silence […],
you did all the talking,
I kept my thoughts to myself,
mostly silent; troubled,
inherited thoughts on repeat,
a single on long-play; yes?
.
and when all was said and done,
I couldn’t shake it off,
grizzly glued to my soul,
the I behind the me;
stuck
Anxiety, I guess, is a matter of definition,
I don’t have a good one so I say no,
I am not anxious; it is just a phase,
It will pass soon, nobody notices,
Only I can see the letters; awaiting,
Unopened and stacked; in piles so neatly,
Ring tones disabled; a bliss of silence,
An answering machine in a cloud; dead,
They ring a doorbell laughing out loud,
I refuse to open doors; unless agreed upon,
I am not anxious; it is just a phrase,
The emails you sent me will be read;
not just yet as I keep myself to myself,
Avoiding sharing to keep you safe,
You might worry for not knowing,
But telling; is opening,
A door long since locked,
Welded shut; and
Buried
There is no blame; lingering,
Between the sheets; stained,
You might find it funny though,
Choosing between hands; and feet,
With a cockerel screaming; attention,
You might find it funny though,
My hands untouched; of other hands,
Counting decades; and more,
You might find it funny though,
I rather run; feet in motion,
Than stay another day; pretending,
There is no blame; lingering,
It is life; moving on
Note to self: (this is a suggestion to self) [self being me/myself/I] … [suggestion being more of a reflection than actual suggestion] … [this is a note] … (sub-note to self: get on with it). I worry about yet another assignment that require me to go beyond that which is possible (in mind). Some would say think outside the box; but I don’t have boxes… In the corner of my eye I can see the outline, the plan, but turning my head it glides out of sight; unreachable. With time I thought I would get closer to my target but with each assignment I question myself more and more. Was this really a good idea? Was my assumption that ‘I can so anything’, wrong? Why do I worry about results? Why do I worry about feedback? Why; why; why?
You tied me down; ropes abound,
A fallen angel,
Bouncing balls; to please a crowd,
A fallen angel,
I shaved my lip,
You reveled your hips,
We shared the cream; and bathtub,
Frosty flakes; eyes awake,
Your river flowing; over,
A fallen angel; sinless dreams,
A fallen angel; out of batteries,
A fallen angel; I cannot please,
On the morrow; I hear in fading,
Lacquered boots; walking unsteadily,
Away
God provide many options,
All free; to whom can see,
There are multiple beams,
In the attic of his church,
His mice; digging deep,
Let them feed; freely,
Their lungs filled with poison,
Exhausted by the fumes,
From engines revved,
In tight knit communities,
Swim shallow; swim deep,
The final breath; I keep,
Searching not for answers,
Today; my final sleep
