Post by anirbas on Jun 23, 2007 13:56:45 GMT -6
You might think
my crush has ran it's course.
If you've been watching me,
circumspectly, pull your
blithering, breast bone
splitting arrow, from
my throbbing chest.
Setting about,
apathetically,
doing what must needs
be done, as I push the ragged
edges of the blood gagged
and clotted wound, left
in your deadly, iron
tipped, feather
flourished
missle's
wake.
Methodically,
carefully stitching and pulling,
as I chant a prayer, over and over.
Stitching and pulling, stiching and pulling,
threading a deerbone needle and sinew through
my maimed and mutilated flesh.
In an effort to heal,
this mortal gash,
no one sees;
much less
feels,
but
me.
And...
maybe you.
The one who slew,
this me, ever so softly
hard; with a jar, a jam, a thwock!
Tick tock went the clock!
And then the hour hand froze.
If it will move again,
only the raven knows...
Why me? Why me? Why me,
to choose to pester,
like Chester
the Molester?
Or am I,
just one of many,
you've approached
in this fashion?
Were you ever,
irresistably,
drawn to seek
me out?
Or
have I
all along,
been alone;
in being
fatuous
with
foolishness?
Not that I'm holding
my breath expecting answers,
you'd deny, anyway...
As I continue threading
my ripped and torn,
flesh back together...
It would seem,
your predatorial mission,
is accomplished with
great success,
here; and
you've
gone on,
to greener,
better flocked,
pastures...
Creeping
over the horizon,
into the next head;
like the weasel at heart,
you kept telling me,
you were...
I'm learning...
...it pays to listen...
But, I just keep wondering,
as tears near drip and drop,
into this crevasse, splitting
my chest; I'm sewing back
together, as fast as
I can, with my
inexperienced
fingers...
Why me?
What signaled me,
as an easy victim?
An easy slaughter?
A clean kill?
I think these,
neither here nor
there thoughts,
as I continue to
take a stitch and pull;
take a stitch and pull;
take a stitch and pull;
threading my blood gagged
and clotted wound, closed.
And praying it stays,
that way, without
further ado
or infection...
~*~
You might think
my crush has ran it's course.
If you've been watching me,
circumspectly, pull your
blithering, breast bone
splitting arrow, from
my throbbing chest.
But, my need is still so strong,
I could gnaw my knuckle bone raw...
Bite the rounded curve of my lowerlip,
til blood drips from it's split softness.
How does one explain, when
wisdom and better judgement,
fall to desire's enchantment?
~*~
This divine madness;
this infatuation
must be banished;
from both my heart
and my spirit.
As it is an illusion.
It doesn't exist...
What I'm feeling,
or not; cannot
be addressed,
in any real sense;
as anything but
mental aggravation
and delusion-
my mind
screwing
itself, again!
Nothing new there!
Once more, I've comitted
high treason, against myself...
I've been fatuous with bawdiness,
foolishness and girlishness;
to the ninth degree
and then some...
Man, sometimes,
I just get tired,
of being a woman.
Sometimes, I wish
my heart, was as dead,
as I keep thinking,
it is...
my crush has ran it's course.
If you've been watching me,
circumspectly, pull your
blithering, breast bone
splitting arrow, from
my throbbing chest.
Setting about,
apathetically,
doing what must needs
be done, as I push the ragged
edges of the blood gagged
and clotted wound, left
in your deadly, iron
tipped, feather
flourished
missle's
wake.
Methodically,
carefully stitching and pulling,
as I chant a prayer, over and over.
Stitching and pulling, stiching and pulling,
threading a deerbone needle and sinew through
my maimed and mutilated flesh.
In an effort to heal,
this mortal gash,
no one sees;
much less
feels,
but
me.
And...
maybe you.
The one who slew,
this me, ever so softly
hard; with a jar, a jam, a thwock!
Tick tock went the clock!
And then the hour hand froze.
If it will move again,
only the raven knows...
Why me? Why me? Why me,
to choose to pester,
like Chester
the Molester?
Or am I,
just one of many,
you've approached
in this fashion?
Were you ever,
irresistably,
drawn to seek
me out?
Or
have I
all along,
been alone;
in being
fatuous
with
foolishness?
Not that I'm holding
my breath expecting answers,
you'd deny, anyway...
As I continue threading
my ripped and torn,
flesh back together...
It would seem,
your predatorial mission,
is accomplished with
great success,
here; and
you've
gone on,
to greener,
better flocked,
pastures...
Creeping
over the horizon,
into the next head;
like the weasel at heart,
you kept telling me,
you were...
I'm learning...
...it pays to listen...
But, I just keep wondering,
as tears near drip and drop,
into this crevasse, splitting
my chest; I'm sewing back
together, as fast as
I can, with my
inexperienced
fingers...
Why me?
What signaled me,
as an easy victim?
An easy slaughter?
A clean kill?
I think these,
neither here nor
there thoughts,
as I continue to
take a stitch and pull;
take a stitch and pull;
take a stitch and pull;
threading my blood gagged
and clotted wound, closed.
And praying it stays,
that way, without
further ado
or infection...
~*~
You might think
my crush has ran it's course.
If you've been watching me,
circumspectly, pull your
blithering, breast bone
splitting arrow, from
my throbbing chest.
But, my need is still so strong,
I could gnaw my knuckle bone raw...
Bite the rounded curve of my lowerlip,
til blood drips from it's split softness.
How does one explain, when
wisdom and better judgement,
fall to desire's enchantment?
~*~
This divine madness;
this infatuation
must be banished;
from both my heart
and my spirit.
As it is an illusion.
It doesn't exist...
What I'm feeling,
or not; cannot
be addressed,
in any real sense;
as anything but
mental aggravation
and delusion-
my mind
screwing
itself, again!
Nothing new there!
Once more, I've comitted
high treason, against myself...
I've been fatuous with bawdiness,
foolishness and girlishness;
to the ninth degree
and then some...
Man, sometimes,
I just get tired,
of being a woman.
Sometimes, I wish
my heart, was as dead,
as I keep thinking,
it is...
