Giving birth to death
One felony at a time.
Breeching the dotted line
I thought I had to walk along
Like the movie I told myself
When you knew me….
Clenching to each note she whispers
To the birth of song in movement.
I find an ounce of reason to keep
Moving…through this life….
The long and daunting road.
I shallow backwards to see
Even the darker side
Of me….and how
This time is awkwardly the light.
The days…I found you.
I found me.
They all ask me why I’m not crying
How am I so solid?
How am I so strong?
There is so much abuse
I can take
Until, that’s it.
I’m done.
Some things look like flowers
And I remember how they melted
In the seam of the abuse
And the lies
Rather than be in the shadow
Of all your emotional punches
And my cries (for help)
I stand up and walk
Right through that door
Letting you go
To have and not to hold.
A single cell of rigor mortis has set in my sentiment
For the way you induce suffering
Blocking the wreckage and the dismay (of you)
Bleeding heart to hurt others
Sick and sick as can be
And I don’t know what’s worse
Alcoholism or your attachment –
To your noose
of the narcissist that you won’t set free
that has a hold of your shaking
hands that
won’t stop till you dose yourself
with your whiskey and the thought
to not belong
hurt others
so you can feel the company
of the hell that you enable
the miles of hatred and anger
of your song
The laceration of your untruths cut so deep
Not letting it go
And cradle
Like the whiskey in your eyes
Drowning soul
Of a lost boy reaching
For his death
in depths
Of the good riddance bottled
up with his derelict..
A hope that we can only wish
The prison he has built will
Save him from himself
And surrender his golden heart
From this heart-wrenching disease
And sickness.
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Jen Juice 