Tuesday, November 23, 2010

She Sings - 10thDoM Shafts of Grace in the Corner of a Room

One more step, each further than the last
Closer to the happy life shafted for him

She slakes her glasses, her hiding rims
Not full of grace; it's a rough start

Moving on, this time she sings
In the corner of the room

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Thirteen - 10thDoM Under the Kiss of the Blood-Soaked Tree

Two months past vodka, urine stained night
Lips locked in sleepless night tossed
Left awake smiling before dawn
Wretched puke in the morning light
Skip church drowned in cranberry stains
Sleepless day gone by - giggle while dying
The world spins, colors, blood poisoned
Sweet breath, grainy vision, focused, blurry
Sleep sweeps in - he calls again
Lips still drunk falling atop me
Half smile quirks against mine
Intertangled hair sweep side, ahh
It's getting quieter now, I'm not pleased
Two pages, or two paragraphs, ease
Don't talk it's ruined now
For the list of reasons not, I am
Dive in, concrete crash, no splash
Still smile crooked, eyes look bright
Each inky line or concocted connection
More high, more light, try again
Say feel be more soaked in sweat
Terrified knowledge what's to come
Spoken cannot grow unspoken leaves
The tree is fantastic, beautiful afar away
Kissed closely, seen magnetically
Lustre lost in lonely lulls
Tuesday's kiss may be our last

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Glorious Tree - 10thDoM Under the Kiss of the Blood-Soaked Tree

They sway, the boughs, and I look up into the shock of leaves tufted against the sky. She is beautiful. Her skin is smooth, alabaster, with smatterings of milk chocolate and cinnamon dots scattered across innocent places like the bridge of her nose and the tops of her shoulders. Our lips mingle between giggles and words, and with her head nestled in the crook of my arm, we speak of the life we'll have when we move from beneath this glorious tree. Lying there, love in my arms, this is the world to me.


They sway, the boughs, and I look up into the snarling branches reaching their angry stick fingers for me. Her skin is rough, alabaster covered in ruddy streaks of every shade of pink. I still think she's beautiful. With her nails digging in, drawing blood, milky white engraving cherry red stripes against dark chocolate, I'm jerked from her side, and there are screams beneath this glorious tree. Digging my heels, my feet tear against the rough roots peaking from the earth, and as I am torn from her, this is the world for me.


They sway, the boughs, and I can no longer look up or anywhere I wish, for I sway too. Her skin is splotched and dirty and broken in various places. Her dress is torn and covered in mud, her face streaked with saltwater and dirt, her eyes glassed and bloodshot, her nose red, and her lips cracked and swollen. She is the most beautiful sight I cannot see beneath this glorious tree. As the breeze moves me, rope tearing through my the skin of my chin, blood sliding down to soak my clothes, there is no breath left, this is the end of the world for me.