There’s an empty canvas above my head,
Where in place of a fan, lies a horse instead,
It breaks free from a self-loathing shed,
At times, when lips silenced words from being said.
Runs across the wall, the horse
But without glee, despite being free, without any remorse,
Numbly it sprints in a white landscape,
For it to understand its purpose is beyond vague.
As it gallops, it leaves a trail of self-identity behind,
Unaware of the absence of a sound mind,
It doesn’t take long for years to pass from specks of time,
And the canvas remains an art piece, still confined.
Displeased by my efforts, I try to find an eraser,
I sigh as I realise that fate was never in my favour,
With no escape from what I’ve just done,
I prepare myself for the final outcome.
So, a cowardly canvas is above my head,
But in place of a horse lies a fan instead,
It is attached to a rope?—?compassionately holding my head,
At last, I die as a muse of a cowardly death.
i wake up
in a body
that is not mine
who tied these strings
to my bones
and made me dance
-–
there are eyes
i cannot see
but they see me
whispersofverses.com for more i guess
they weigh me down
with their silence
with their judgment
-–
the mirror whispers
you are not enough
not the face
not the heart
not the soul
it spits back
what i already know
-–
how do you live
when your shadow
feels like a stranger
when the voice in your head
is your worst enemy
-–
they tell me
to love myself
but how can i
when my reflection
is a war zone
when every piece of me
is a battle lost
-–
the walls are closing in
the masks are smiling
the strings are pulling
and i am breaking
-–
but no one notices
because my cracks
are silent
You are a tree with thousands of leaves.
Yet you let them splatter.
You are human being who deceives,
thence your leaves do not matter.
Without your leaves,
You are a tree waiting for its chopper.
You are just a jabber,
with nothing to consider.
You are less momentous than before
Hence, they are your virus with no cure.
In their presence
You become more attractive.
With them there is a lot of difference.
As they water you, your roots become more active.
Their faces no longer appear with sympathy.
Even, He, Himself starts treating you with equity.
My suit of self-loathing no longer fits
The mirror of compassion tells me so
Years of bad-intentions held back growth
After a time, the length of my sleeves bind
I didn’t realize I’ve become over-sized
These angry pants are fit for a small child
How silly I look with cuffs choking wrists
How I’ve loved my painfully straight jacket
Like it or not, the right suit still waits
No one other than I can disrobe loathing
The best cloak is the one from the womb
It takes skill to unstitch a childish blazer
It takes care to unhem pants outgrown
It takes love to go out in my birthday suit
Let tatters of anxiety fall down the chute
Self-loathing keeps me from disrobing
But, I’m not ready to shed my suit yet
The manly scissors that cuts are too heavy
After self-loathing is bare understanding
Forgive the man unstitching childishness
Let go of short-comings without clinging
Take the macho suit off the rack with care
Try on that fitted suit made for just me
Wear it till love fills the over-sized space
Take it all off till nakedness feels nice
Matthew 24:18
"Whoever is in the field must not turn back to get his cloak."
On Pimple Pond
Pocked, our dreams spurt from cabin walls.
Woolen cover and cotton pillow catch
pin point boils from day breaking, like pitted glass.
White pebbled path meanders the hill’s cheek,
wet from being squeezed by nights cold hard hands,
to where set-tables will not wait our scrubs,
pastes and pleas for clarity like hot egg whites.
Yawns pop-jaws hinged under waxy ears.
We pass the lake and spit the dregs of sleep
onto her smooth glassine mask.
At the mess ladybugs rest, on pickle-surfaced leaves,
decline to fly. We arrive for breakfast.
One hundred-twenty faces come to bond
And maybe find a friend on pimple pond.
Overwhelming thoughts pour into my head with every breath that I take.
Maybe if it was a bit more quiet I wouldn’t shut down from every little mess I make.
In time this empty shell gets filled with pity and loathing, for the person that I’ve made.
I know I will lose control one day, and the tears will flow as I finally break.
I must detest one,
just the one, yes,
battle within myself
so that I can love the rest.
I use words and phrases
that hold my sense of conflict
so that my strict faith
may rest in my wish to love.
Our grip on love
may not exist; so let it not slip
into the wasteland of my mind -
a mind that holds so much conflict.
Are we born to create a passion
for a battle within ourselves?
Who can love
with no comparison with hatred?
So, yes, I do loathe one,
engender protest for one.
Am I to kill? I suspect not.
But hate? Oh yes, do hate.
(Sep 2022)
The mind is a mysterious vessel
It carries decisions and memories of yesterday but
No matter how many whiskeys, they will not disappear
It replays life altering choices
Alongside choices not made, in a whine
A stamp of regret imprinted on the brain
The only way to erase it, through death
As Sisyphus, my punishment is grueling but deserved
The ache of self-loathing is like shouldering 100 slaughtered men
The colt 45 calls louder today than normal
Its call seducing
Claiming the pestering will dissipate if only
I paint the ceiling crimson red
Oh, I think today its victorious
As the liberating barrel tastes of sweet escape
Its forces are immense and face withered resistance
Swimming thoughts fly away
Refreshing darkness comes with one, quick, pull.
My messed up mind draws a blank,
My motivational efforts have sank
Nothing but a chaotic stream of stagnant thoughts,
Starting a mental battle which continuously has to be fought,
Sleep deprived and mentally drained,
My eyes can’t lie they truly show there strained,
Trying to hide my psychotic state from everyone,
Even though the person I once new has most certainly gone,
The mask I choose to wear helps me hide my dispair,
From the loved ones who I feel no longer care,
The promise I once made,
Does not cause the thoughts to fade,
Depression haunts every corner of my mind,
Causing me to have cried,
It takes hold and feels like it’s tearing into your soul,
Until it finally takes its last toll,
Deeper thoughts swirl in my clouded mind,
Now Happiness seems so hard to find.
Scrub away the remnants of
emblazoned colours that have
mixed down to mud.
Settled in pore.
Scraped through every crease.
Dead finery clings in layers that
have fused over years, bringing
me closer to a man I don’t know.
Brittle skin.
Exposed to morning air.
I cut myself open and count
the secret rings of my idiocy.
If I dress this wound that mimics
a smile I may still bleed through,
yet manage the infection.
I will always rub in the salt, kick
the man when he’s down.
Like amnesia Lazarus he will
always rise again and ask for more.
Dumb, surprised, and ultimately lost.
I am your defication
I am farted galvanism
To be wiser than one's creator
Is no great source of pride.
Invisible to the naked eye
traumatization (courtesy
chastising and reproaching -
by fellow classmates
and later in life
birth parents and inlaws
dealt hefty figurative jab)
tremendously impacted yours truly
analogous to him moving bajillion miles away
compounded by his withdrawn demeanor
diagnosed when he reached middle adulthood
as schizoid personality disorder,
thus exhibiting obvious developmental delay
bullied courtesy nasty brutes,
who scapegoated and rejoiced
with hip hip hurray,
meanwhile I experienced
terrible psychological melee
escaping to safe confines of bedroom,
where I wanted to stay
for mine remaining years of life.
Retrospective review
now approaching my doddering old age
constituted more'n one cruel (cheap) trick
played on super tramping urchin,
who traipes across virtual global stage
ensnared within whorled webbed wide
spending his hard earned itty bitty wage
spinning one strand after another.
Hourglass of spider’s ink
upon your lower back.
Your love, a kind of love
that’s kind of an attack.
Smoking skin pressed onto my own
in messy overtones of kisses.
Stole my love before I could escape.
Less like love, more like rape.
Introduced me to those words
I never used before
Drugs paraphernalia
kit cut whore
**** score more
words I never used before
Sometimes I get chills.
You say, “probably coming down with something.”
I say, “Yeah,”
“you.”
Hating isn't for whole of my life,
Yet in here, I have to create a strife.
We shall wait till the poem, I finish
Then I'll embrace thee going swinish.
Grant me now, I'll pretend,
My hatred will blow to an end.
Ever since the time we met,
My loathing grew strong, I bet.
Don't advance near me, ever
The glare I bear here will lever,
That will throw thee to a distant,
Never to be, anyway persistent.
Farther away shall thee go
As I yell with a wrinkled brow,
Yet my heart shall cry in fear
Lest we lose the closeness, so clear.
I am almost getting over
Come nearer, let's see the changeover
I am a Q whose life will be vainly dark
If I am alone like in a lone park.
I hate the way you come in
I hate the way you take over my life
The way you walk through my doors uninvited
You have taken everything important
I hate the way you come in
You make me lose people
I thought id never lose before
You make me feel like someones
Ripping me from the inside out
You have done nothing good for me
You chase me like a shark chases a fish
You make me wanna crawl and hide from everything
Somedays you make me wanna dig my own grave
I’m scared you won’t ever leave my side
You go into others lives unwanted
You take loved ones to the end
You make people disappear from the earth
With just a snap of a finger
Your the unwanted
Your the devil
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