Category: Poems


Suffocate


The air is thick and heavy –
dense. Very dense.
Wading through it,
we’re trying to find
what we lost in the
mist, but we “can’t
see.” Not anymore.

Air so thick a butter knife
wouldn’t cut through.
We can’t move now;
I can’t breathe. It
fills my lungs to the
very brim, threatening
to overflow. But, the
question is: where
will it go? Where
will it overflow to?
It can’t. It will get
denser – is that a
word? It will cram
itself into the tiny
organs that are
reserved inside the
body for a certain
guest – air. This air
did not make any
reservations so
there is really
“nowhere to
accommodate” it
all. What then?

The lungs – my lungs –
will burst due to
the pressure and
all the stress and
strain and force
they had to endure
throughout this
endeavour. Little
blue balloons burst.
If we can trust what
they say, we can
assume I won’t “make it”
and they’ll break it
to you smoothly, I
hope. No worries.

Maybe the air will course
through the rest
of my body, thus
rupturing each
organ in its path;
eventually it will
reach my brain
and cause more
damage than is
already there.
Won’t that be a
“kick in the teeth”?

My brain will be compressed
“beyond repair.”
What will be left
of me once the
air has finished
the suffocation
process, which it
naturally exceeds at?

Nothing.


It’s my younger sister’s birthday and also the last day of school. My sister is annoying most of the time and moody. But I love her. When she’s not moody or annoying, she’s fun to talk to – not that many people give her a chance, naming no names.

Anyway, I decided to write her a poem. I’m not sure why though but whatever, man. So here it is:

I lived a year, before
you awoke. A year and,
oh, how many months?
Two. Yes, two. I was
fourteen months
old. Fourteen months
and five days. You
screamed as you left
the comfort of mommy’s
womb – I was in there
once, you know. I
didn’t want to leave
either.

Look at you, growing up!
We grew and fought
Together,
loved and taught
Together.
We learned, too.
Teaming up against
our sibling, and then
siblings, we were
unstoppable! Or so
I like to think.

And now. Look at you now.
Fifteen – I thought the
day would never come!
You still seem so young,
cute, naive. Next year,
sixteen. But you’re still
a child! My baby sis.

Trustworthy Deceit


We all stop and stare in your direction – why

are you acting this way? Tell me.

What’s going on? Is this another game? My

intuition tells me that I cannot see

what’s right in front of me.

 

An abstract noun that you do

not embody tells me that I should

leave. I’m wondering who

you’ll be today – could

it be me? Yes, you should.

 

Not long ago, I thought you

embodied it but you were there

to prove me wrong. Do

you want to tell me where

you got the idea that

I’d be okay with that?

 

Diminishing, as I

watch and try

to analyse.

You.

Puppets


Your strings are tangled, darling,

where are you going,

may I ask? Spinning

in circles will get you

nowhere, might I

add.

 

Dizzy, yet? I feel

sick just examining

your countenance

visually as you spend

your life spinning

endlessly. Endlessly

spinning. Why?

 

A ragdoll, you move

left and right like

a hand would jerk

in an amateur

fashion. A pro

would make it

look almost

real – you’d

forget you

were ever

just watching

a show.

 

They hold the slender

stick that keeps your

string attached. They

are in charge – didn’t

you know, darling?

 

The ones

in charge

motivate

but also

discourage.

It is their

choice,

you see.

 

We are merely chess pieces,

waiting for our next move.

 

Puppet to L17.

Observing


Brush strokes move paint in time
to music she barely hears,
Words flying overhead, instead
penetrate her ears
and enter her mind – she
can’t help when those words imbed
themselves in her brain.

It takes a while to process
but she eventually begins
to analyse the excess
words she is left with.

What do they mean? How
does she respond? Does
she tell someone now?
What does it all mean?

Searching for the answers but
reaching no conclusions is
the path she trails along. The
words remain inside her brain
only to be called upon at a much
later date, as such.

All the words said about her
friend, teacher, mother, lover, brother, sister, aquaintance.

She remembers.

Headphones


She wears headphones.
Y’know, the bulky kind.
Those that hide the music inside.
Outsiders don’t even hear.
She walks,
They ignore,
Harmony, right?

If this had a name…
This… Would be…
Isolatry syndrome.
It’s not a word, right?

Isolatry syndrome, watch and
learn.

She walks.
Behind or ahead.
Her “friends” surround.
A crowd.
Of those who love her,
right?

The names, the
scribbles on the page and
the bathroom walls,
the rumours and
gossip, it’s pretty
microscopic
to begin with.
But it escalates and
evolves like
fire and mammals,
plants, trees, creatures,
technology, man.
Up until the point that
everybody knows but
it’s all hush-hush, man.
It’s not like she knows,
right?

She’s just like the others.
Goes to class.
Gets the grades she needs.
Sits with them.
Works with them.
Still, she wears her headphones.
It’s all good,
right?

“Hey, are you listening
to me?”
Teacher shouts – not
happy. She doesn’t
look up.
They whisper
profanities
about her, speaking
ill of her name.
She doesn’t move to
acknowledge the shouts or
the whispers that
are thrown her way because
silence is golden, right?

He pulls her headphones off of her head.
No sound.

Inner Voice


Inside my head,
I’m screaming –
where nobody else can hear me.

It gives no
satisfaction
but to my inner voice.

Those sadists
searching my features for weakness
will never know. I hide it so well.

I do not know what you want.

Nor do I know that I can give.

But you won’t find it here, masochist.

Free me from my prison
of sadism, her and pain!

He has the key – don’t
let him lock me up again!

Imagine Destruction


Everything,
Everything,
It breaks
before my very eyes.
And the echoes that remain
are shattered in my mind.

I watch,
Watch as the plate in my hand
falls to the ground. It doesn’t matter.
The tiny pieces, shimmering
on the tiled kitchen floor,
cut my feet as I walk
and pick up a stone from
underneath.

I see my reflection,
My reflection breaks too.
Threw the mirror across the room,
against the wall. Then I
cut my empty hands
as I picked up the shards.
My features bleeding on the glass.

The television was snowing softly. I,
I broke that too – first,
the connection, next,
the screen. I tore it
apart for the sake of it,
And the wires that connected
my memories,
I cut them. Cut them.
I cut the chord.

Then I see,
See the window shatter,
Light reflecting from
every piece. Beautiful.
I fell to the side,
cut my leg. An open wound.
The fire spread
throughout my calf and thigh,
Until it consumed the limb.

The house destroyed,
Destroyed to rubble
and ashes.
I did it, didn’t I?
Burned it after my rampage
in which I attacked my
abode. I destroyed walls,
Doors, windows, furniture.
And watched it be reduced
to ashes. It reminded me
that the clock ticks
away. It counts
The seconds, a timer,
until we are consumed
by embers and
We all burn.

There I stood, wondering,
Wondering how I,
little me, conjured these
images
in my mind.

Lose


Playing on HIS court,
HIS ball, HIS rules,
HE wins,
You can’t.

It’s HIS turn now,
Hit out,
Take cover,
Run for your…

Rage quit
if you can’t handle,
HE will take you down,
Don’t you know that by now?

You can’t win.
HE wins,
HE is the victor,
Forever and always,
You will lose,
So why not just…

Quit now.
You’ll never get ahead.

Forever


I sit and wait.

For moments upon moments.
Time after time.
There is a reason.
Though I forget why.
Continuously.
Endlessly.
It lasts forever.

I sit and wait.