My paper cut is infected
Cause it was neglected
Bandaids won’t solve the issue
Some alcohol on a tissue
Slice up all my fingers
Cut my arms
Tear my veins
Rip my heart
Why are you vain
You got some blood on your hands
Just wash them
Pretend to understand
You think your such a man
By leaving me buried in the sand
My paper cut is infected
I might need some septic
Slap my cheek
Ignore my defeat
You got my blood on your hands
I don’t know who I am
Bleeding out on the road
Pass the stop sign
Cause I know your ready to go
It’s your birthday? Forget the cake and cheers.
Let’s slice up a piece of life and dive into the tease.
No fancy decor can match the warmth we bring,
Just us, sharing secrets like agents in a fling.
In a world of chaos, everything blurs outside,
Oh, how I would rant through my rage on a long, tiring night.
Pouring out struggles, sharing troubles and delight,
You listen, filling my heart with warmth and ease, my guide.
Yet in our childhood, those sun-soaked, endless days,
We chased each other like fireflies, lost in playful ways.
I can't imagine us as adults, so far from that sense,
For the mini-version of ourselves lingers in my brain.
The special bond we share, I know, others must see.
Sisters often bicker, but we let it be.
While they fight and criticize, we just go with the flow.
Who needs a party when we can roam the aisles,
Pretending to be food critics, savoring snacks with smiles.
Start with a red onion and dice it all up.
Then slice up some mushrooms (no more than a cup).
Saute in some oil in a cast iron pan;
it quickly will soften in a few minutes span.
Then separate the leaves from those lovely red stalks,
and set them aside for less time on the clock.
Chopped up like celery, add the stalks to the mix,
and toss in some sea salt for a nice, subtle kick.
Then roll up the leaves like a big fat cigar;
slice it ever so thin, like the chef that you are.
Toss in the greens and a fresh lemon, juiced,
and stir on low heat till the volume’s reduced.
Voila! It is ready, a colorful treat;
low cal and delicious, red chard can’t be beat!
Sandwich
Chop up the onion
Slice up the bread
Bring out the salmon
Bright pinkly dead
Wafer the cumber
Juicy and green
Ensure the blade is
Sharpened and keen
Scrape on the butter
Mayonnaise and dill
Cap with brown wholegrain
Fresh from the mill
Wrap it in poly
Heat treat the seal
Slap on a label for
Market appeal
What does the salmon
So freshly dead
Think of the mayo
Thick on the bread ?
And what of the cumber
Bedded in butter
What would he say
But he could utter ?
And of the dill
Ripped from the ground
Silently screaming
Without a sound
And of the grains
Crushed for the bread
Do they feel pain ?
Do they feel dead ?
Eat up your sandwich
Think as you chew
Savour the contents
Cadavers too
I’ve been hit with a mack truck,
or maybe i’ve just been punched in the gut;
Being brave is a recipe for pain;
Better to slice up your thoughts,
may keep you relatively sane.
I’ve been sent to the gas chamber,
my hearts at a million beats a minute;
Why can’t it just short circuit?
I’m done with every bit of it.
Slice up my lip,
make sure you leave a scar;
Just wipe my memory clean
with that can of kerosene;
Sever the ties between my heart and my head,
tug o war is no way to treat a friend;
l swear you take that knife to my heart,
I promise to never bleed on you again.
The curtains part ever so slowly this morning
fingering the light of a beckoning sky
church bells have yet to be pulled for the ring
as children stomp out of bed with a sigh
The hum of the season is still in my throat
chanting its way into far and remote
gliding through hour I fill the coffee pot
then slice up a fruit cake ready or not
Christmas is here like a flannel of night
channeling daylight like hand to a glove
together we wait for His birthing right
today we shall open the gift of his love
The curtains are parted to let in the morn
He birthed again, all sins have been shorn.
Trilogy 1) Alice and Vincent
2) The Mask
The one in black
Dapper, sinister with a sharpened string harp
Melodies to defeat the bravest of souls
Can’t go back
Slithering down the rabbit hole
Out of control
You would never know
Tossing smiles
Knifes slice up pink hearts
Stay away, stay away
Stay away from me
Stay away
From the stranger
Avoid the danger
The dandelions always come back
The bourbon flows behind the mask
Let the rabbit crawl
Out of the hole
Look in his eyes
You will see no soul
My eyes are filled with empty gods
Given up on all you lot
Let the devil have his way
Let the darkness make me sway
Haven’t got a bullet to end it all
I just know I have been the fool
The lost one behind the mask
I am not up to the final task
Weep on the floor
Sweep me away
In my three piece suit
You have no idea
The demons who play
Screams and laughter
Screams and pain
Musical insolence
Piano keys dance in my head
I don’t want you to leave me
I don’t want you to know me
Go away
I am the one in the mask
Softy they cry out my name
Ste.......phen Ste.......phen
If only I could be ElaineScisorsHands,
under tonight's half moon;
on the precise sec past midnight
I'd creep into deep shadows
and slice evil in two.
SLASH! SLASH!
Black cats and black rats and
even blindass black bats,
would go cross-eyed with terror
feeling the ominous... impending global doom.
I'd swing my long black cloak round myself and,
hop on its tail, and be swooped up by
the howling winds, setting me off on my aim.
SLASH! SLASAH!
I'd cut out chunks of infested flesh,
pluck out pink, rheumy eyes with
their bloody stringy bits-
slice up and stab all evil doers
in their deformed spineless-backs.
Once I've made full circle round this orbital globe-
chopping and dicing and splicing, I'd
swoop back into my dank hovel,
with my cloak pockets glug-full and,
long shiny serrated blades dripping
coagulated black blood. I'd reach for
my engraved crystal goblet and,
drip blood in ...PLOP! PLOP! SWIPE! SWIPE!
then wring my cloak tail of every gruesome drop.
Wholly satisfied, on this grave Halloween night,
I'd feed my dark side on the dark side of the moon.
* note my FB name was Elaine Petgrave
I gave in again
After holding back so long
Retreating to my old habits
Carving messages on my arm
It's hard to admit now
Because I have such a good life
Yet I've lacked the urge to feel
Like a black hole swirling inside
Each night, raising the silver
As it colors me red
Digging to find emotions again
While allowing the blade to shred
I believe we were made for more
Than going through life unhappy
So I'd rather slice up my arm like cake
than live life as a zombie
It's not that I really want to cut
But the pain is strong to entice
And the endorphins that kick in:
savoring
Though my wrist must pay the price
So i'll continue my routine
Soaked deep in a stained sleeve
But Shhh okay, they still think I'm
happy
So lets keep this between you and
me
comes best from those who consider themselves
two-bit, ****ed up, failures,
but still churn on doing what they do
as if after those last final breaths,
somewhere along the line,
like those who lost ears or who simply died nameless
burning away in the pages of history books,
there will be a hint of genius in the distant future recognized
when it matters not in the least
(like it ever mattered before)---
best from those who spit on convention
who *****on the training provided by those that want to insist on
the way that things are
supposed to be done---
best to beat the want to be included
with a 4x4 with long rusty nails knocked through it
best to slice up the yearning to “be somebody”
with a ginsu made just for the occasion &
most of all,
best to listen to those that have been there,
who are still there & who have “never amounted to nothing,”
as those who think that they have
will chant in unison until their dying day
(which will be cast on every major network & publicly mourned for at least a week by the mass).