Black Rose, Whiter on My Grave – Poetry on Sorrow
Photo credit: Kevin_P from morguefile.com
Sitting all alone
Flesh and bone by the telephone.
Waiting for someone,
anyone
to call, for the Loneliness
pressing down on you is
unbearable.
You are breaking.
Or are you already broken?
Spending every day in a blur
the minutes and hours
fly past your glazed eyes faster than a car crash.
Bleach
spilled on the floor.
You didn’t know you dropped it,
but your horrid loser of a mother is yelling at you all the same.
Music no longer holds the same
appeal it did before.
Music and Dance were your life.
Now you can’t even move your lazy ass out of bed to eat.
The pervert at your front door holds flowers
“For you.” he says.
You accept them and feed them to your long
dead fish rotting in their molding tank.
Cold, cold all over.
Slowly opening sleep encrusted eyes
you realize that your loser mother is screaming at you
again.
She’s dumped a big pot of icy water on you.
Oh well, you’re so damn tired and lonely you don’t even care anymore.
You close your eyes once again.
“I give up! Is that what you wanted to hear!? I give up! You can die for all I care!!”
Sinking deeper into the abyss
it is so comforting.
The inky masses conform around you
caressing you
whispering in your ear
holding you in their dark tendrils of
understanding
love.
“I loved you my friends, but not enough to endure this hell. Goodbye”
Giving into the Dark masses you now know to be Demons
you realize that that girl who you’ve been watching
was
me.
I made a mistake in giving in to the Demons
but there’s no turning back now.
When they finally release me
I am at my grave.
There is a solitary flower.
A withering black rose.
I shed a black tear.
My scream tears the air apart at it’s seams
shredding my reality.
I was a bad person.
I’m sorry.
***
