without a pulse

only seeds were left

her white-washed cheeks

and those protruding bones.

just the little girl

next door in the window

pounding stained glass

with the hurry of heartbeat

now, there are only echoes of words

don’t look through the curtains

stay in the back alley

skipping over puddles,

smoke fills the house

abandoned and broken –

without a pulse.

jack in the box

 

 

door slammed shut

keep out sign hanging on the door knob

 

panic lives in her chest

winding the jack in the box

anxiety jumps with its

white clown face – screaming

pounding and pounding

stealing another 24 hours

 

messy bed and unwashed sheets

are left,

twisting and turning around daytime

hair falling out

unwashed face

unbrushed teeth

the rotting of woman

 

her knuckles start to yellow

and her heart hardens

sagging bags under eyes

droop like grandma’s skin

 

the dark creases of loneliness

stiffening the body

wide awake with the night

holding hands with one another

skipping over cracks in the sidewalk

nails painted black

chipped and scratched

 

her toes get caught in the traps

left out for squirming mice

the tight pinch of reality is just a slap across the face

the handprint screaming red over her right cheek

shapeshifter (poem)

 

 

you sharpened

your words with

      a knife

dug deep into me

 

the bathtub,

fills with my

blood

clogs the drain

 

I drown in  

 your dirty hands

your rough and

 sharp touch

 

you scrape off my tears

off with your

rusty   finger nails

bruising the bags

under my eyes

medicated

On destruction

 

you carved your initials

into my chapped lips

Stripped me down to

You’re deathly standard.

what goes unexplained

 

 

It’s a better story if i talk about

Finding flowers in open wounds

If i say it’s alright

If i tell you that i’m better now

That i can see the different

shades of morning again

Like i used to

Or if i talk about the spinning head demons

Running circles but there isnt really anything

Poetic about this pain

I cant make this a pretty ending.

red escape

Head spinning

Out of control.

Eyes, gone.

The hallways

Are empty but

no pace

To be.

Running

On an endless

Track.

The infection

Spreads,

All through my

Bones.

The sickness

It leaves me cold.

The t r e m b l i n g

Shudder comes

With a heavy fall.

Not a hallucination

Or even a nightmare.

This is the worst

Of reality.

Hands covered

With crimson

Red of my own

Blood.

There is no

Sting, only the slick

Relief

Straight line of

Shame knots in

Skin.