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by ladylazarus

Murderous bastards!

The unholy gleam takes it’s root

Splinting and shivering in every pupil.

Pupil, pupil- dilate as such!

Show me movement in your harsh breeding;

The curses fall from your lips and spatter onto my face.

They are like pennies, new and heavy on my skin.

The skin! Around my eyes it is purpled, like dark fruit,

And tissue-thin; it often hurts me.

Poor weakness! Hard eyeballs cup themselves in my sockets

And weigh me down like a hole in a boat.

I am too meek for this heftiness.

My soul claws and sobs to me like a sleepless baby

And there isn’t anything left.

The sweet sunbeams, the dull peonies

Are as empty as my heart, and they do not suffice.

I’ll die and trump them in heaven.

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1 comment

marine105 7/18/2014 - 4:04 am

The heftiness is relative.

Kill the meekness in your mind, bury it deep.
Underneath death and agony, blood and pain.
And take these things, these awful things,
Take them, and with your mighty boot,
Stomp them.
Crush them.
Annihilate them.
Use them to erect your body, to instill resolve in your mind.
Trump them now, and then trump them in heaven.

Let them know;
they try and drag you down,
they’re going to lose every. damn. time.

Great post btw, love seeing poetry with actual depth and imagery

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