The lilt of the rain echoes
the longing of a woman revoked.
I never made a ripple
not even when feeding your ego
hand over fist.
I rose to your defense,
scoffed the warnings
that could have freed me
from fate’s unforgiving grip.
Beware of blind faith,
a man that condemns reason
has something to hide.
You preyed on my hopes,
on my body which I gave
as proof of commitment.
My dreams were bigger in scope
than reality could ever realize.
Your heart was too cold
for the fires raging inside of me.
I was barely a woman when we met
but that did not stay your hands.
I remained long after you left,
I remained for the sake of the life
that grew within my trembling womb.
Never did you lift a finger in service
to the miracle our union evoked.
The sky above splits,
thin fingers erupt from the darkness
like a body breaking loose from its grave.
There is no quiet left to bestow,
my mind will not sleep
given the misery that it has sown.
Somewhere your broken body rests.
Does death still dream?
Because I can’t feel a goddamn thing.
I sat all night in my dusty clothes,
my white dress speckled with blood.
The moon as fine as a razor’s grin
and I knew with relief
that he would never see this terrible sight.
Our child was taken from me
and with him all that remained of my sanity.
What becomes of the living
when life has stolen everything?
We wanted only to be chosen,
to be brilliant through association
but you refused to yield.
I won’t be held accountable
for the loneliness
that your loveless smile provoked.
for https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2018/08/11/wordle-364/ https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/08/10/music-challenge-33-hope-in-the-air-sung-by-laura-marling/ https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/08/12/sunday-writing-prompt-rorschach-test-3/
My lips cradle your forgotten reliquaries.
I am dissatisfied with my meager existence,
with the unquenchable depths that are my fears.
So senseless, these stories with their grievous outcomes.
My senses are addictions, they shovel in horror after horror,
at least my brain is given to such ornery interpretations.
I hate my brain, how weak and sickly a thing, a brain.
I am polluted, sacred still, but markedly polluted
and I think that I should suffocate
if not for the occasional bout of laughter.
What reason have I to laugh
what reason could I possibly need?
I don’t like people in a collective sense.
We are an insatiable wake, always seeking
a definition that excuses our personal excesses
and prohibits the prosperity of others.
We envy everything, even the deficits,
even the illnesses of others because those scars
could be used to claim some benefit
for which we are not eligible given our fortune.
We are cruel to one another because in others
we assign our motives and in others we see
that which we find lacking in ourselves.
Beneath our frightful costumes
there is a child hurting,
an innocence indelible
and if we could only forgive
we’d see that we too are substantial.