Hindsight

“Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It’s like killing yourself, and then you’re reborn. I guess I’ve lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.”
Charles Bukowski
skins
The morning after, it’s plain to see,
the drunken mistakes, you did to me
Your eyes are teary, with stains of sorrow
I’m hardened to that, it’ll happen tomorrow
As the sun sets fear, sings lullabies
Soon you’ll be home, bringing hell and goodbyes
Again the saddest story is now told
I’m becoming a drunk too, as I grow old
You stained my mind, with intoxicated words
Breaking my soul, with your scourge
this morning tells a story, of my final plea
I lay this bottle down, because you have become me.
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Spark Of Life – Your Touch –

“I’ve told you the four thunderstorms – disappointment, frustration, unfairness and isolation. You cannot avoid them, as like the monsoon they will come into your life at regular intervals. You just need to keep the raincoat handy to not let the spark die”
spacefairytales
Seen it come and seen it go, many days high, many days low.
Something about creating, lets me see.
Something about feeling it come over me,
Bringing a spark of life to everyday things.
 
Without your touch those words will die were they fell.
Without your touch those marks are lost in gray hell.
Without your touch those plans are hard to tell.
Bringing a spark of life to everyday things.
 
Seen it come and seen it go, many days high, many days low.
Something about creating, lets me see.
Something about feeling it come over me, 
Bringing a spark of life to everyday things.

First published in Opinionsofeye.com
 
01062011

Exception –

“I cannot be bound to the confines of your rules. I am the exception to them.”
Truth Devour, Wantin  
 “Exceptions are not proof of the old rule; they can also be a harbinger of a new one.”
jennifer-sixx

We were together for years it seems

but those days are just part of a dream

 
 
Heaven sent but hell bound
 
for my blood scent a female hound
 
 
 
Things left a confusing scene
 
broken scars all part of the sheen
 
Your memory still at midnight prevails
for all that is wrong, it still leaves trails
 
No more tears, their long gone
buried in the shadows of woman’s song
When the afternoon’s sun turns to nights wrath, I’m left with nothing. But God.
There is way that seems right to man, in my broken mind it’s a fallacy. But God.
Lust consumes and passions lead on into the gray of a twilight future. But God.
In vain chasing the white clouds that bring relief from this insanity. But God.
But even the high stacks of fortune’s thievery leave me alone. But God.
No way out of this green mile of hell’s gauntlet, cheered on by devils. But God.
In the desperate flames, drums of throbbing nights beat my soul. But God.
But God
will destroy contradiction
will make a way of escape
will break sadness with a smile

will set the solitary in a family.

 

First published in Opinionsofeye.com

10192013

 

Permutations

“The life of the dead is set in the memory of the living.” ― Cicero, Philippics
taliesyne
There’s something hidden, a suffocated wish tucked away in a forgotten cobwebbed corner. The gray green tints of death work their magic in transforming the wonder to a wasted sticky mess that’s never the same. A smell of the once alive, again persuades the living. We’re fatefully committed to the peer pressure of dead things and that without prejudice. A moment that died many years ago…it lives still, kept alive by the artificial respirator of my mind.  It then remains that the only way to kill it, is to kill me. Damn the longevity of dead dreams! Of dead love! May death release me from their vice, and if they were to live on, this will be the hell of the underworld.

Also published in Wingposse
02192014

Nemesis – Stalked From My Youth –

This poem depicts the spiritual entity that from my childhood, stalks me. I know him, he knows me, and the battle continues. I have one refuge, that of prayer. Wouldn’t you pray after seeing that the enemy’s power is far greater than your own? 


xbloodxforgottenx
Prowling, eyes alert, glowing red’s the sign 

That what stalks me, is a spiritual kind

All it’s attentions, frothing tongue a tell
 
With growls preaching, at me from hell
 
When it comes, the dark is it’s lair,
 
No matter where I go, it finds me there
 
Words of religion, it does completely despise
 
I’m never away, from those deep red eyes.

Related Post: Hour of the Wolf – Wrestling With 3 A.M.
012412 

Last Dance

 “It is one of the considerable privileges of art that the horrible can be transformed, through artful expression, into beauty.” – Baudelaire
“Nothing burns like the cold.” – George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones 
 
sinkinginsociety
The tombstone, angled slightly askew,

tumbled out of bounds

with a weedy surround

Miss Daze stood, in wind her hair flew,

in tears from all the sound

coming from cold ground

Flames they shot, forked vehemence,

voice from grave beneath

a mouth without teeth

A door revealed, viewed with vengeance,

Swaying she was sure to be

chanting a nether decree

A demon red, he stood in great haste,

and with a beastly shove

grabbed Miss Daze from above

Sinister the dance, in smoky and hellish taste,

Passion’s rigor is restored

Forcing open Deaths door


Pee – The stain never fades

 “PTSD is a whole-body tragedy, an integral human event of enormous proportions with massive repercussions.” – Susan Pease Banitt
dirtifulmind

The stain spread across her crotch and down her legs. Not sure why, being far past the age when self control is learned, but her young body seemed to respond this way. She knew what this meant, the beatings, the torture, the hell that came by the hand of adopted dads and step moms who didn’t understand why. Did they consider that maybe something’s wrong? Did they know that a babysitter used the bathroom to defile her innocence, violating her with fucked up fantasies? No, she was left to deal with the severe repercussions, searching for a remedy. The diaper she wore in public (embarrassment being the rod of chastisement her step parents thought her worthy of), locked her in stocks of shame that forever took the pee stain, and engraved that young mind with its stench. She prayed often in those days for the God that raised people from the dead, the God that made blind men see, to just do a simple thing and dry her stain. Of course, the wetness never dried until it was to late, and her young faith died after many unanswered prayers. Let this be a warning for parents everywhere, pay attention to your kids, there are reasons why.