Bitter old lady,
Where is your absolute?
Beneath the graveyard,
As you start to execute.
For no one who possesses life,
Can catch your foul taste,
And whoever follows you,
Most certainly will be replaced.
And as I begin to inquire,
My core turns to black charcoal,
The fear in your embrace,
You are my constant armhole.
Irreversibility disengaged,
Forever I am severely detached,
Completely irreversible,
Neglected and dropped in the cratch.
Suffering in the dry land,
Quenching never abducted,
I've seen the hell above the earth,
Distorted and reconstructed.
And as I roam the forsaken desert,
I begin my journey something fierce,
Defaulted in the binding agreement,
Rejected for a thousand years.
Bitter old lady,
Where is your absolute?
No longer in your possession,
Bewildered and irresolute.
-Laura
10-14-2015
Categories:
armhole, conflict, dark, emotions, fear,
Form: Rhyme
Did it irk the burrowing domain,
A crawlspace lit like pumpkin pie,
And prick a truly genius brain,
Till thoughts and deeds solidify?
Sanctimonious in a sewage vat
That leaked to opine and convey,
Contrived, pip-squeaked a petulant rat,
Some dysentery bug come out to play.
Pain that is mine I will express
However I see fit to tend,
I own the deeds and must confess,
To tell it as I comprehend.
Bear in mind such rigmaroles
In truth possess the said and done,
Opinions are like armholes
And every armhole has one.
Categories:
armhole, funny, life, on writing
Form: Verse