Anaesthetic 2: Nocturne

The days I can’t find. I’ve looked;
I cannot see beyond the pillow.
I’ve tried and tried, but in my dreams
Are my dreams; My aspirations are of sleep.
During the day fall is my night rise,
Wakefulness is my fight, my solemn right,
and my struggle, what trouble.
The musings of malcontent
Infesting my consciousness
Like the nightcrawlers writhe.
Beneath my feet, the centipedes,
And all other things that impede
hide under the folds, nooks and crannies
of the darkest parts of my being.
Above me, the moths breed
In my fleeting thoughts of recluse.
Within my eyelids, I find refuge
 And my only respite is when
The day stays away and my night stays night.

Promise 9: Blank

Illuminated by a blank white screen
my reflection. The void staring back at me.
I see the lines on the display, like needles.
that prick my skin, I bleed not blood, but tears.

From my eyes, I scrape the disbelief away.
My heart in blank and my few thoughts,
fraught with frustration, my mind in blank.

As vacant as the bright white screen,
Blank as the sheet I wrote this poem on,
and about as painless as the clean slice
of the paper through and in between my fingers.

One look at my hands and I feel my index finger well up
with anticipation as I pinch the sides. Nothing.
A bloody disappointment, Not even a droplet.
It’s my writing hand that steadily holds the pen.
It remains frozen in place, with nothing to say.

Blank are my thoughts as I read the lines unwritten,
that would send all my happy thoughts to ruination.
Blank as the time before and blank as it was after it happened.
As void and empty as I wish it was after it was said and done.

I wish it could have been that blank like it was before.
and I could pretend that it never happened at all. Forget.
I could carry my vacuous smile when everything was so simple.

I wish to be so blissfully ignorant,
but now I try only to think of blank
Because blank is all I want to think of you.

Anaesthetic 1: Red Lipstick

7/31/17 11:34 PM

Put on some lipstick,
The kind that real women pick.
Now take it off, it makes me sick.
It has to be red. Nothing else.
What’s that on your face?
Have I told you what I think?
You’re more beautiful without make-up
but your lipstick, should be red.
Don’t ever look down, Don’t frown
You should always have your chin held high.
Why? You’re not allowed to be sad because you should smile
and those smiling lips of yours have to be red.
That dress of yours is quite revealing,
You really should wear a shirt over it.
I don’t want them to look at you like that.
But open up the front a bit to show off your chest;
I don’t want you to attract too much attention
and I don’t want them looking at your red lips.
8/1/17 5:52 PM

I put on black lipstick when you tell me when I should wear red.
And the next time I wear red for you, my lips will drip red.
Red from the lipstick and red from the spit blood splatter,
Bit and bled, solemnly read from my bleeding red lips.

Promise 8: Fragile

If I make both outcomes,
Either of which are inevitable
Make both a win-win situation
Then I nullify any heartbreak.

But what is more depressing
Than love with neither hope
Nor confidence that the fire
With its fragile ego unguarded
Could ever hope to make jealous
The passion that once bubbled within?

Effervescent infatuated bumblings
That boiled over in froths and spills
That overcame wills and various chills
And I on the receiving end thought
For once I wasn’t foolish enough to think
I would ever make it this far to finding
Myself with another soul in this world.


Misc 5: Bits

With All the little pieces of you, Kay,
and still mention all else good would lessen,
I cherish more than glad mice feast away
On the breadcrumbs that fall from the heavens.
And from the depths of friend starvation pull,
When piteous remarks would sink below
It likewise nourishes my spirit full
Of all compassion of yours can bestow.
I won’t forget your friendship, I’ll admit,
So please accept, ’cause I love you to bits!

I disappeared for a little bit. I’ll be back next Tuesday with more Promises. Working on stuff for the next set too! Take care y’all.

Promise 7: Edge

Encompassed from zenith to horizon,
From Edge to Edge of my periphery,
The splendid memory of you and me
Like the Edge of a cliff facing an ocean.

Your voice, soothing and endearing,
Swishing, lightly whistling, and hush.
Like a gentle nudge, the wind to push
A warm breeze that tickles my hearing.

So picturesque, as if taken from my past.
I swear I’ve seen light before it turns dark .
A reminder of how much I want to disembark
Beyond a view I never thought would last.

A misstep here means an end to a memory kept.
Waves crash, spurn stone in the perilous shallows.
I watch safely from a distance the danger below,
But here I am, at the Edge, anticipating my steps.

Since I’m not certain, I maintain my foothold.
Should my memory and reality stay distinct?
and in my good sense, perhaps my instincts
wish to carefully tread along that threshold.

I wish to take the next step, but everything I fear,
In some delusion or misunderstanding, I fathom,
That if my demise awaits me there at the bottom
I’ll stoically plummet to my death and disappear.

But since I’m not sure, and completely uncertain
I don’t wish to fall over the cliff side and dive off
If the sea wasn’t willing to break my fall that day.
That cliff would stay there as we last left it, then
And etched into my memory as the ocean sloughs;
Erosion weathers rock, sediment, and sand away.
But I will remain unchanged for when you pledge
That you will wait for me when I fall over the Edge.

Promise 5&6: Quill and Pen

Promise 5: Quill

My words, mine affliction
Your judgement, my cure
But I refuse the treatment
It, alone is mine to endure
I am ill with a proclivity
Of Seeing using words
To observe around me
All that is quite absurd
Taste rhyme or reason
To hear with eager lips
With teeth and tongue,
And talkative fingertips
Quill and Pen dipped
In blood, our hands
Viscous fluid smears
Inky pages with tears

Promise 6: Pen
I write these words knowing
that you likely won’t read them.
They, kept clandestine from that
careful and critical gaze of yours.
Is it for fear of being judged
that I will never reveal this?
Perhaps, but my fear is nothing-
Between each verse reveals all.
I always have trouble,
What is it I want to write?
I struggle with finding it,
the message I want to say.
Maybe, I want to write a book
about you or I… or us both
But no one sets out to write
a book about just one thing.