Get Cut: A Collection of Unloved Poems
26-7-2024
Underneath the skin, coiled blood hissed.
And behind his sinister grin,
A hundred teeth hid a recoiled tongues twist.
His speech blunders, but within his eyes seethe,
Words wherein they need not leave his mouth kissed.
He spoke no lies, and often wonders those bequeathed by his gab gift.
But the truth lies asunder between his own words and honest habits.
What I mean is that he often preaches despite his own practices,
A conscious unclean, an empty coffin for each his inciting blacknesses.
24-7-2024
I forgot to live at seventeen
Years of loving the living dream
Hid more of my skin
Been hiding underneath my sleeve
‘Sincerely evermore,
The Ego; The Esteem.’
23-6-2024
It’s hard not to just focus on the faces
Sharp eyes straight onwards
The pupils follow what sight traces
I can’t help being this awkward
Sometimes I feel so hollow from slight gazes
Do you ever just want to hide?
Confined to the bright places
I’ve just gotta swallow my pride
Wherever the light chases is where I get borrowed by the tide.
20-9-2023
Angry men who’re hurt by the system,
Always complain they aren’t heard by the system.
Acting out,
Maybe acting a victim,
Maybe I just act a little different,
Or maybe I’m stuck in the same boat with them.
Regardless,
I wonder what they’re all mad about,
Wonder if it’d be different if their mother’s had kissed them?
I wander about,
Lost in the desert searching for a kingdom.
I’m praying but still disallowed,
I lived a life of sin from birth,
Damned to roam,
The river bed earth forgot since its drought.
They’re in my skin,
And they’re finding a way out,
Meeting the harsh winds that are fining me down.
The hostile sky,
Burn in my cottonmouth,
I’ve no directions,
Follow the sun from north to south,
Return of the Moon,
I’ve just got turned around.
Could I be dying,
My life accursed.
Without lying,
Dying first could have me sleeping sound,
Because if the reaper’s calling,
I’m surely finding my way out.
I write with repetition throughout,
I’m not very creative,
I’m reliant,
I’m eaten up by doubt.
Five lines about me,
I’m still nothing when I scream and shout.
Copyright © R.P. Grcic | Year Posted 2024
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