Thursday, April 22, 2010

More Poetry Drabbles.

3. As a little girl
I fingered the knife wounds in your legs
Enchanted by fascination

You had told me the very woman who held you in her womb
Chained you to the radiator
and left you to bleed out your very life from shrieking flesh.
But not before returning to cast your brother aflame.

I thought I had it lucky.
Never questioned what was sure to be a normal life
Until stated by my Grandmother the fear imprisoned in my bones
At the mention of my mother.
I thought
"Isn't this what a mother's love is?"
Because as long as I didn't have permanent indents in my thighs
I could be forcefully locked away from kin
and do no more than lie and dream of nourishment
For up to three days.

4. Magic doesn't exist at the end of the world
And it certainly doesn't exist over the edge of a bridge.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.
You see, like any boy, he only wanted approval and good fun
Like all the other kids his age.
Fun is in the eyes of the beholder.

Almost every culture has it's own ceremony
For coming of age.
So why should a gang be any different?
And this group of cowboys only accepted men.

So the boy stood as instructed with a sack in his hand
Warmed by the heat and scurrying of fur
Weighed down by mewling, a rock
and the knowledge that this mistake would haunt him
for the rest of his life.

And as life slows so he may deflower his ears with
the sound of a splash
His eyes register an event that no six year old should even dream of.

The boy was now a murderer.

5. My Father once asked me
If I now despise you so much
Why did I ever want you?
And I took the easy way out and replied
"You know those relationships
that make you want to slap your forehead and say
'What was I thinking'?"
And we were both content with my lie.

But I wasn't thinking
I was feeling
Gracing my fingers across her lips
As if I could feel the catacombs of her soul
But I didn't know
and it never occurred to me
That NOTHING is buried in a wall aside from dead bodies
You can't coax love form a decaying corpse.

The vampyres were more romantic in your books
And so plastic
Plastic enough to glow rainbow in the fucking sunlight.

Did you read Carmilla?
Beauty her only glamour
Even which could not conceal the repugnance of her soul
Looking to be her very dusty maggot infested corpse
Decomposing behind a stone wall

And THIS
IS
YOU.

We may dress vampyres up to be pretty
Give them souls
And hearts of sappy 16 year old romantics
But this is only the modern stereotype
And the truth is what most people are never educated to know.

So when my father asks "Is she is so wicked
Why fall for her in the first place?"
I reply
"Because I was never taught to know any better."

(In the catacombs of your soul
Are the bodies you have and will bury.
And I am only one of them.)

6. There are no faeries where I live
I know this to be fact.
No slyphs riding on the back of Guinea fowl
Or hiding behind eroded stone after tugging at the whiskers of a cat.

They'll never travel form their tiny homes
If I left them milk by one of the few trees
My landlord hasn't chopped down
For the sake of profit.

In this ranch
On this farm
I feel the starkness of dead time
With no magick to propel it forward.
My cat,
the only entity to remind me of the life that has been lost.

You see, I am a spiteful spectre
As vindictive and unforgiving as father Time himself
Or at least, how I imagine Him to be.

These cushons have faded from the dazzling emerald
That lit up the room like pixie dust
when my Grandma was still alive.

She told me
That you're never too old to believe in faeries.
For who are we to say that something can not exist?

And I remember the cicada wings
she used to bring me with my morning yogurt.
how she would say a faerie shed them
for more beautiful ones
And tried with all her very soul to make me believe

Ah, but you see
There are too many words to remember when you're feet in the ground
So, years later, when Fate herself deceived me
Each time I emerged from the vacuum of my house
I didn't understand that this was just her test and my trial.
So I pulled forth all my memories of cicada wings and brick mansions
And shed them with my lack of compassion
Called upon all the magicks I hadn't visited since childhood
And told them that they
Can
Not
Exist.

And to me... I suppose they don't anymore...
Just like I'm not even a memory to them.
Solely another human that sits on its faded wrinkled throne
Wrestles fate
And murders.

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