::: Orange Paint :::

the strangest things remind me
of her
a spot of orange
paint on my laptop cord
from the time when she helped me paint
my brother's room, for once
such things were fun for her and not a chore
much like me

::: A Habit Of :::

my scars pained me, but you never knew
you didn't bother to ask about that
demons only mattered if they were yours
so we both ignored the ones eating me
you made a habit of fooling me
so I made a habit of

covering my skin with my empty love
I cried for you in vain that night
you mocked me for my indescretion
so I bit my tongue on my admittance
you made a habit of hurting me
so I made a habit of

waiting for hours just to hear you
tell me you were tired and had no time
when I should have caught up on sleep
instead of wasting away for a dream
you made a habit of leaving me
so I made a habit of

listening to your meaningless whispers
but I mistook them as promised future
and I took you in to my deepest part
which made it easier for you to lie
you made a habit of killing me
so I made a habit of

dying

::: Darker Dreaming :::

fragmental thoughts indulged
colours creep through my mind
nightmares show me who I am
cutting my wrists in union

dreaming tears of drowning
falling through broken glass
the joy of being used by you
I beg that you leave me again

cohesion sips from my veins
calling me to another bridge
water fills my nose and mouth
and I'm choking on what we were

::: Absent :::

I've noticed you're
not really there
or are you

you just want me
to believe you are
how selfish

I gave you my heart
you can't even give me
the time of day

::: Bruised Stars :::

the stars are well abused
every lover calls on them
writes their story through
then demand that they fall

where are they now, then?
these dire astral visions
plummeting before you
making way for your desire

bruise their glassy egos
make your pleasure worthy
for vanity buys their death
shining in all its terror

::: Unrestful :::

dreams of floods abuse me
six a.m. trysts of the soul
shake these mornings early
shelter me from your storms

born to a wooden spoon
my simplicity is beneath you
could you ever understand
my divine right to refuse

trapped in a glass labyrinth
catching me in its corners
breaking only for my blood
ragged skin left on my wrists

a crushing glance defeats me
pressed beneath emptiness
flattened like a plucked daisy
waking without air in my lungs

forgotten memory of who I am
replaced by fears of what was
and an intense lack of being
denied the comfort of your arms

::: Requiem for the Risen :::

I am greater because of your sins
though you tried to make me less
your faith proved too empty
my lacking heart drank in your poison
and my blood became too thick

I lacked the capacity to hold you
so you ripped free of me
leaving your desparate hole behind
which I fell into and made my grave
singing my own tearful requiem

madness, you might call me fey
some murderer, you forgot about me
I was once your communion
you ate my flesh and drank my love
oh, how I was devoured

you sent me to earth, buried deep
six feet more to distance us
oh, but I am the lovely one
I understand your cowardice
denounce me and I will increase

fed on the salt of my own tears
I spread into the ocean
could you ever say the same
my lamentation became bird song
I mourn your pathetic fallacy

::: Cowardice :::

I was hiding in the place where names don't need to exist
and images are the loudest sound
it reminded me
one thing you taught me above all else
the opposite of love, not hate, but indifference

you mixed my blood into the dirt
such is my reward from loving a coward
pittance desired but not earned by my wicked tongue
starved to death
I hope you can still think to smile

I passed by your house though you did not see me
and the thought came to visit
but I would not
you do not deserve to be haunted by my presence
you're probably afraid of ghosts, too

::: Awake :::

as a child
I'd never found the use
of sleeping
I was always too
aware, too curious
I wanted to know
at all times
what was going on in the world

now that I'm grown
I still have little use for sleep
habit, I suppose
but I know
better than to
assume
that I can actually see anything
by staying awake

sick of these yet?

April is National Poetry Month. To celebrate, I am posting one of my poems every day. You can play along too! Or, if you don't write, post a poem that you love. I would love to see my friendslist filled with poetry all through April.


One thing that I've noticed in my own poetry is that certain characters will be repeated. These characters represent certain people in my life, usually, and I do use the same name for them whenever they appear in my work. Other people will appear with as many different images as I can think of for them. I don't know why this is.

This poem is heavy with religious imagery of a strange sort, as well as sexual illusions. I find, often, that the two overlap a lot in my mind. I'm particularly interested in reactions on this one.


( Ram's Blood )