Category: poem

Cold, Dark, and Handsome

This is an older poem which I may or may not have posted (if I did, it was to my now-defunct site). In any case, I thought of it this morning, so here it is:

Cold, Dark, and Handsome

I like my men cold, dark, and handsome, you say,
and I tell you I have the cold and dark parts
down pat, but I struggle with the handsome bit.

You shrug and let me in anyway, most likely
figuring I’ll get better-looking the more you
drink, but that isn’t going to happen, my dear.

You’ll have to settle, I’m afraid, which I know
makes you cringe, but there’s nothing to be done.
Your core temperature plummets as I wrap

my arms around you and the light bleeds away.
Someone is crying–it could be either one of us.
Before your eyes close, you whisper, You’re not so bad.

Final Moments

Final Moments

When at long last, I draw my last breath
and the crowd of people who don’t care–
who have never cared and will never care,
fighting, arguing people, marching idiots,
resounding gongs and clanging symbols
that fill the dark canyon in which I find
myself nightly, bereft of reason but hoping…
at that time, I hope to master myself.

Dream

Dream

Somewhere in this vast dreamscape–
the one you created and passed to me
during one of our forbidden embraces–
our shadows flit while our lonely bodies
roam in search of one another, the red
sun seething, the sky riddled with dying birds.

Witness

Witness

There will no witnesses to your
unspeakable crimes, not even me,
as I wait–blind and mute–for you
to become shadow and fill the corners
with your black essence, the slow drip
of your voice like a murderous stream
I wade into against my will, lower myself,
and open my lungs to smiling oblivion.

Escape

Escape

You break so easily, you tell me
as you swing the hammer toward
my face, and I meet it without
flinching, expecting the blow,
craving it, the slow explosion of
pain across my broken cheeks,
the sharp exhale of my shattered
breath as it escapes my body and I fall
into darkness so deep that not even
you, with your keen and terrible
eyesight, can follow and find me.

Hunter

Hunter

When you abandoned me,
you forgot to make sure I was dead.
Over the course of black days
and blacker nights, I clawed my way up.
Now I sit in the red twilight, trying
to remember your face, but all I hear
is the your voice echoing across the void.
I will use that sound to hunt you.

Rejection

Rejection

I received a letter today–that itself
a rare occurrence–that read:You should
have never existed. We can help.

I wrote back immediately that I
heartily concurred and was ready
to erase myself throughout time:
no birth in a small hospital in Alabama,
no present in the sweltering suffocation
of southern Georgia, and no future anywhere.

The reply came two agonizing months later,
and this time the letter said: We no longer
believe you’re a good fit for our program,
and you may continue to exist, however
pointless that may seem. Best of luck to you
.
I toss the letter across the room, and I will
soon forget about it as the world will one
day forget about me, though I’d been hopeful
for a brief moment I could hasten the process.

The Death Munchies?

Who knows? I came across this yesterday when I was looking for another story draft to finish. It made me laugh.

“I’ve got the death munchies,” I said to an abandoned sea shell.

The world turned and turned for no good reason other than it had always turned and didn’t see any point in changing things.

There was a girl who painted herself into a corner and she came to love it.

A porpoise solved my grandmother’s crossword puzzle, the one she started during Reconstruction and never gave up on, even after she died.

There was a pig in a thistle. It was embarrassed.

“Did anyone hear me say I have the death munchies?” I asked.

huh1
a man with the death munchies