Coffee.
A Small Coffee Shop.
A corner.
Street Corner.
Brick walls,
Bells. Doors opening.
Regret.
One plan for coffee,
Dismissed. Regretted.
Dreams.
Nightmares
Say something?
Subliminal.
Stains.
Coffee spilled on the pages of my book.
Character.
Sing to me.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Living Nightmare
Blur clouds her eyes as she lie there,
Once again gasping for air,
Images a mere mirage for another moment.
The wooden floor cools her body from the heat of exhaustion,
Each panel knowing a different inch of her body.
Familiarity claims the situation, while her lover claims her
body.
Kisses and “Sorrys.”
She turns her cheek to escape the lips of that who damages
her,
Bruises on her neck paint her skin with tones of indigo and
violent violet.
Silk sheets soak her tears,
Mascara runs, black out mind.
She closes her eyes to dream.
The only place where she can escape-
A twisted fate.
She wants to crawl out of her skin,
Fists then Fuck?
Loss of air, loss of dignity, loss of self-worth.
A simple bandaid on such a distraught circumstance.
To creep out of this so called bed, to break through glasses
houses at full force,
She could only dream.
To Kick and Scream Scarring Pitches
Internal screaming, blood stained tears.
Iron tasting tears.
So internal- So scarring and tattered.
A new beginning, fresh faces, porcelain facades.
Danger creeping on the lips of an angel.
To my shock? Not so much- yet dismayed at the approach.
A primary battle, one of never ending disagreement.
She says the vision is crystal,
Yet - blurred it is,
Rain claiming the silence on the windowsill.
Bleeding.
Internally bleeding, yet it will subside.
Screams escape the silent lips through unseen tears.
Acceptance revokes my persuasion.
Mes mots sont vrais.
Experience seems vital in this bound story.
Empty pages drip with crimson ink.
Your eyes scream stories of pain
and greed of strangers' hands.
But you my dear, have yet to see or hear
my wounds so deep.
It's not a war at best,
or peace at very worst.
We're equally effected -
Different scenarios- Blood. Scream. Pain.
Internally conflicted, wounded, shamed.
The tears of past reflections, cast moonlight in the rearview mirror.
I kiss away your depth, while I cage my deepest fear.
I want to scream, to cry, to kick-
To love.
You.
My strength will not fail.
Someday I want your arms to blanket me, in warmth-With belief and understanding.
To scream, to bleed.
What a beautiful thing.
Iron tasting tears.
So internal- So scarring and tattered.
A new beginning, fresh faces, porcelain facades.
Danger creeping on the lips of an angel.
To my shock? Not so much- yet dismayed at the approach.
A primary battle, one of never ending disagreement.
She says the vision is crystal,
Yet - blurred it is,
Rain claiming the silence on the windowsill.
Bleeding.
Internally bleeding, yet it will subside.
Screams escape the silent lips through unseen tears.
Acceptance revokes my persuasion.
Mes mots sont vrais.
Experience seems vital in this bound story.
Empty pages drip with crimson ink.
Your eyes scream stories of pain
and greed of strangers' hands.
But you my dear, have yet to see or hear
my wounds so deep.
It's not a war at best,
or peace at very worst.
We're equally effected -
Different scenarios- Blood. Scream. Pain.
Internally conflicted, wounded, shamed.
The tears of past reflections, cast moonlight in the rearview mirror.
I kiss away your depth, while I cage my deepest fear.
I want to scream, to cry, to kick-
To love.
You.
My strength will not fail.
Someday I want your arms to blanket me, in warmth-With belief and understanding.
To scream, to bleed.
What a beautiful thing.
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