- Currently reading: Head Full of Ghosts – Paul Tremblay
- Currently listening to: Unleashed – Skillet
- Currently watching: Lucifer
A mildly disturbing piece of poetry from a collection in progress.
A new wardens view of a patient in a catatonic state. I swing from wanting to make it more shocking to feeling like I need to reel it back a bit so perhaps this middle ground is best. I realised after this piece that I have a fascination with alliteration, if it rolls from my tongue when I say it aloud then it’s normally instantly loved. I find the technique drifting from my poetry into my short stories and longer works so occasionally I have to stop myself turning everything into an epic poem.
With your tone-deaf eyes that tell no lies. There is nothing inside. It’s where you hide, your mind dried and heart tide.
I’ll bide my time.
Those scarlet curls,
You’re not like the other girls, with their violent swirls, coaxing pearls of blood in whirls. Spitting, they hurl themselves afar
I’ll uncurl those rings.
is your paper-thin skin? I envision touching and fuck, it makes me grin. Thinking about breaking in, waking you inside.
bars separate us. They haven’t learnt to trust and so I must resist until I can thrust my hand through your locks of rust.
Such sweet lust.
Flustered, every time I see you.
Youthful, despite the years.
Tearful, on the inside.
Beside your bedside
I’ll reside till
I can have you
my impassive bride.
Perhaps this doll will not fit my whole, comparing the moments I stole on the payroll. If I can’t cajole you then what’s the point.
Where’s the hunt?
I’ll let you stay, unmoving behind my eyes. It’s no surprise that I prefer girls who rise and prise my hands from their thighs.
Where’s the sport?
Stay tucked up,
Fast awake. Your innocents I won’t take.
No move will I make to rake your skin against my skin.
I’ll wait, till you wake.