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Posts Tagged ‘night’

my heart exploded inside

when you took that ride.

pieces of you scattered

on an asphalt blanket.

blood and bone

you wouldn’t come home.

i take comfort inside,

you’re a diamond

in the night’s sky.

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the smell of urine, vomit and blood tickled the air

tattoos hung as trophies, with morbid care

knives, scalpels and cleavers  gleamed in twilight

congealed blood hugged them each night

she laughs each time they try to run

she mocks their empty pleas

it’s fun that shots from her guns

bring the douche-bags to their knees

so if you’re a guy

alone one night

be wary of she

who bids you good night

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i hate these nights when you can not sleep. yeah, i’m a live and i recently had a birthday that i spent 9 days celebrating. not sure what to say actually. as a gift my BFF gave me a journal to spew my thoughts into but when he gave it to me i thought for a minute- i didn’t know what to do with it; as a jump start for my brain I asked him why he got that for me- he gave me a reasonable answer: i use to write and that he thought i could find it useful in expressing myself, etc. he then said he liked the paper in it; it reminded both of us of a wedding invitation we each had recently got in the mail. oddly enough, i got another gift that sort of goes w/the journal- a bottle of jack daniel’s. now while i like jack daniel’s, it as well as anger are what i am trying to straw from in terms of motivation or writing aids. hmmm, where was i?

oh yes- the journal. i honestly don’t know what to do w/it- now those that know me, know i like to write and i own several journals which are littered about my room and boxes of things waiting to be opened when i finally do reach a new dwelling.

this journal is so pretty- paper and cover-wise, that i’d hate to mutilate it with any ill attempts at poetry or creative writing. i wonder if i should spend an afternoon, revisiting my journals to see what i can do w/them? maybe i can re-purpose them and send them along a new and exciting path- doing what, i don’t know…

crap, my tea is getting cold.

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a husky blanket

smoky brown eyes

tip toe out

from a husky blanket

the two cranky orbs

clench in fear

as rays of light nip at them

sleep flirts with me

through the night

but never stays to comfort me

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While the children sleep, she creeps upon them.
Each night she watches their weary heads hit the pillow;
she is their weeping willow.

Many years have gone by
since the two from within have died
and she hung herself from the beam above
while the children sleep.

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I awoke one dreary morning, a light breeze came in through a few cracks in the wall to the right of me.
Then I noticed the paint chipping from the wall to the left of me.
The windows above me seem to let in what little light the grey clouds would allow.
For whatever reason, I couldn’t look down at my feet or see if the door to my room was open.

Ugh, I must have had another wild night again.

I looked back to my right, at the cracks in the wall. I expected an eye to peer through like in those horror movies late at night.
I looked up as if to see the rain I hear that’s now coming down, harder by the passing second.
I went to wiggle my toes but they were a little cold for my taste.

Ugh, too lazy to move the sheets over my feet.

I heard voices; two people were mumbling about: she, cold, out there and red.
I wanted to yell shut up, I’m sleeping but that’s effort- never mind.

I turned my attention to the left again, the paint chipping on the wall appeared more dismal- looking than upon first glance.
There were blue flowers all over it but they looked like bruises from my angle; I thought blue was suppose to be a soothing color.

Finally, the door opened and in walked the two chatterboxes I heard in the hallway.
They looked down at me and said, “time to cart her away.”
I tried to yell, no- stop I’m awake, but I am wheeled away.
I looked up and noticed I entered a tunnel- it went on and on and ended outside the building I was in; one of the two chatter boxes from before says, “it’s her first time out since she got here. She’s was in here for nearly 23 years.”

* * *

I realized I had been a mental patient for 23 years at the Lunatic Asylum- put here when I had thought my young son had tried to kill me one evening.

* * *

And now I’m dead, or so I think.

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