Dead.

Poke poke

Stick and stones

Shake shake

My still shoulder

Pull pull

Hair, clothes

But I stir not

To live is to move

To not is to cease

Diseased

Sickly sweet odor

Rotting flesh

My flesh is perfect

My skin flawless

Not white, but alright.

But what rots?

 

Here is a secret

Hush! Hush!

Swear, oh swear on Styx

The oath unbroken.

I poisoned her

A maiden lush

A rosette rose flower

I plead guilty

Milord, Milady

I safely stowed

Her lifeless corpse

Away away in a dark place.

 

Here is a secret

Hush! Hush!

She resides within

The primitive prison

My perfect skin

My perfect bones

Tis her that reeks

Sickly sweet

Tis her

Who’s cold, bloodless

Dead.

 

 

 

 

Abandoned Puppy (prompt 23)

You were every child’s dream

Mine as well

Your golden mane and hazel eyes

Still feature in my perfect dreams

Yet in a moment as cursed as it could be

I traded you in for an extra hour of sleep.

I know the hands that hold you are true

And you’ll know all worldly comforts and pleasures

You got a house twice as big as ours

And people whose affections are but four times mine

Yet, I know you ached when I left you there

Your broken heart took the longest to mend

I know you whined, weeped and starved

Yet, I didn’t check in nor was a visit paid

I know it’s too late to beg forgiveness

But, Jack, I ain’t asking for it.

 

My Palms

My palms are too soft

Too white.

Eighteen years into life

Yet they are like a newborn child’s,

Devoid of any callouses

No marks, no creases

Save the life line and such.

Haven’t I toiled?

Am I a stranger to life’s pain?

I know I ain’t.

I have worked,

Racked up my brain,

I have cried too many tears.

Yet my palms are too smooth,

Too happy to be mine.

 

 

Oxygen

I carry my dreams

Like oxygen cylinders

On this one lifetime climb.

Oh what a burden!

Should I leave it here?

It’d be easier.

 

No!

 

The air is thinning,

The breaths are short,

Heart beats sounding

Like angry poundings on my front door,

As death came knocking

I intended to go

 

No!

 

The mask on my face

With oxygen brimming

The poundings fading

Death receding.

 

Hour 20 Prompt: Sleepless

Rise and fall-

the rhythm of life

I hear her mellow breath

By my side.

The room is dark

Not quite black

For in my palm

An enchanted rock

Glows blue white

Fighting against the darkness

Encroaching, shrouding

My weary face

Saggy eyes

Ruffled, tousled hair.

I stare in trance,

Hypnotized,

Watching the pictures in motion-

Dogs dancing,

Kittens mewing,

People falling off horses,

All in technicolour.

 

 

 

 

 

At World’s Ending

When the world comes crashing down

You know where I’ll be,

We’ll have Irish scones

And wash it down with some tea.

How would you like your scones, my love-

Jam? Clotted cream?

I hope the tea isn’t too hot, my love

I hope it isn’t too sweet.

We’ll have a lovely chat for old times sake

Like Ol’ friends that we’d been,

As if time didn’t wear our spirits out,

As if we’d never parted ways.

Let the world go to hell, my love,

And burn in hellfire

We’ll exchange sugar-coated pleasantries

In my secret garden outside.

We’ll talk about the weather, my love

We’ll talk about life.

 

 

 

Hellish Beauty

I wish I were pretty

With long eyelashes

Dark as a hellhound’s eye

Long as Hell’s longest tunnel

And red ruby lips

Flaming like hellfire.

If only my eyes glimmered

Like a sinner’s while sinning

And my skin glowed

Like the riches of the dead-

Forbidden to men

Cursed with woes.

 

 

 

The Proposal

Two blue berries

Blisteringly hot day

Bluest of blue skies

Blabbering blackbirds bless the morn

Bling! Flashes my diamond ring

At home on my finger

Been there for a minute.

Blood berries, blooming daffodils

Two blue berries

Staring unblinking

Into your olive eyes.

 

 

 

Biscuit

I love me a biscuit

That puts up a fight

Before surrendering

To the incessant attacks of incisors

And crumbles and powders-

A fortress in a siege, falling

Like Humpty Dumpty from a wall,

Or Jenga blocks stacked up too tall.

 

Who said victory isn’t sweet?

 

Dear Future Self

The day looks bleak

More bleak days to come.

Dear me! How sad are times!

Don’t let the bleak sadness

Drag you under. Don’t flounder.

Don’t be afraid to blunder

Do not fear the thunder

It is the lighting that kills and burns

And turns men to ashes.