Category Archives: The Dark Themes

Hospital

There is something in me that wants to return 
To the bleached white walls and the chemical-room
To the soft silent plain of the starched stiff sheets
And the endless night where I wake and sleep.

The waiting breeds new agony
But the sleeping-room brings me release
I warmly breathe in the numbed-up night
Where the painless hours finally find

Me. 

Doll

Each night my silk-skin shudders
And my yarn-hair starts to fall
The black matte buttons that give me sight
Grow dim and lose their light.

The nightmares climb up bookcases and
Nest in the dust on my grin
They stretch their claws in my overalls
And kiss the freckles on my chin. 

I cannot fight the shadows, so my weaknesses grow strong
Each night the dimness fills my limbs
And seeps into my soles. 

I try to whisper, “help me, please”,
But the child-folk cannot hear. 
So tears of dust fall from my eyes
And I let the shadows near. 

With dawn my shivers grow warmer
And the sun brings back my gleam
I smile painted lips at children
Who see only what they want to see. 

Building!

How long have now I slept 

While worry-heart within me wept
And rattled the bars of its room
And clashed like a cymbal entombed

What bitter potion silvered my eyes
To such cataracts and cobwebs
They sugar-coated the ledge, they bled into my pupils and 

I

Saw

Red

My vision now strikes back, 
each poem written reacts
With the phrases dilating my gaze. 
My worries will all keep away. 

VICTIMS

The rushing breaking numbs my skin
Each tender flood-thought pouring in
I need to sleep and let my eyes down
Close the weeping, gate the sick-town

Each wailing warmth,
Each bleeding heart –

I NEED THE SCREAMING-STONES TO STOP
so I bump my head and numb my death

I chill my bones in liquid groans and wait for it to set;
I suffer like a FOOL UNWORTHY
biting back self-sympathy
The pain I feel is fractional, how dare I be testimonial

JUST HELP ME STEM THEIR BLEEDING, PLEASE

then let me writhe in peace. 

Anyway

Who spits molten lead as I?

Whose shivers leave stone teeth and staring eyes

Who bites the blood into prose and parade

Who paints the bruise into shades that don’t fade

Who lets the lightning in to translate the thunder

Who breathes in the glass dust to exhale the wonder

Who faces the fire to transcribe the burns

Who worries the lion to feel its great fur

Who walks under currents to see the sea play

Who jumps in the lava to rescue the clay

Who pines to feel pain just to write in this way?

Thank God, Myself gets to come along

Or the poet in my brain wouldn’t stay.