Tuesday, February 10, 2009

you say everything as though you mean it to break something


You do everything as though you are
helping a dying woman through childbirth.You say-
'If you're not the woman, you'll be the child'. You are doing this
to make the child survive a world of raptors on its own, crying,
wiping its face on its ass.'You cannot escape this',you
say. I swear, I dig my nails into you and yell
when I'm really just wishing I could sob and say 'I'm sorry, I'm
sorry, lets be ok.' You do everything as
though


you're doing everyone a favour, everyone
but you. You tell me that if my dead friend's book
gets to my bedroom, I'm going to be possessed by suicide
spirits. I burn the book and feed you the
ashes. You take your forgiving hands
out of the oven and do everything you can to
save the child.You say 'This is your next life, damn you, damn
you', bleed a little, and collapse with your God
stories lying next to you.


You know how it's all played out, you're writing
the script and you're chopping off all branches to punish the
roots. The fruits fall, the flowers fall, the
buds make no sound but weep. You look at me and
say 'You won't escape this, damn you,' trying to sound like a witch,
but failing. You try your exorcisms on yourself and
then on me but we've been exhausted. You take your
forgiving hands, pick me up and tell me that


nobody will love me because
I'm ugly with disfigured breasts that resemble the
withering humanity hanging out loosely from
something facing extinction. I try to kill you but my nails
come off. You take your bruises and compile
them into a catalogue of revolvers as though it could be
your prophesy or your handbook on


survival strategies for me. You call me a whore and
scream curses into the commode. You tell the dying
woman that the child is coming through. The steam doesn't
help her breathe. You talk about your failing
marriage your dying bones your psychopathic
tendencies your life and its lack of oases and the
saddest way to combat collapsing roofs. I say 'you can't escape
this, DAMN YOU!' and weep silently, wondering
if you'll ever notice their missing heartbeats
sticking to your bloody hands.


--
(image from google, manipulated by me)

4 comments:

My Evil Self said...

You don't know me, and I don't know you, which provides for a superbly ideal setup for me to say this -->

This is , by far, one of the most beautiful pieces of poetry I've ever come across.

You remind me of what I thought I'd be, had I decided to be myself for a day.

I'm in awe, for a number of reasons.

deluded said...

deeeeeep.

you look like you need some medicine.

and some chocolate parfaits.

weevil girl said...

DEAR EVIL SELF PERSON, LOOK YOU'RE REALLY NICE AND YOU MADE ME HAPPY *!*

just when i thought nobody reads my poetry and i should consider waking up sometime around midnight and killing myself incase i fall asleep before midnight. you save some lives, woman.

i'd give you some love if you gave me the reasons OR EVEN IF YOU DIDNT SO HELLO *heart*


and look deluded guy, you should try to wrap your head up into a capsule and feed it to the vultures for suggesting something so atrocious.THATS A FRIGGING GRAND IDEA !

My Evil Self said...

Glad to save lives.. More so since I have lived a long time with the reputation AND temperament for the exact opposite. :)

I LOVE your poetry. You write with an abstractness so lucid, it's amazing. Like cummings, or elliot.. or one of those cubist paintings one can stare at for hours and wonder HOW they happened!

Note : As is evident, I'm still in awe. ;)
Do keep it going. I'd really like to read more.

Regards
-The Evil Self person who is actually named Sherry