Pigmented argumentation akin to
breathing ice fired earth.
My freshly anointed disfigurement all powdered out,
self built subterranean sanctuary, dividing at the seams.
Like two old weather-beaten mill stones
round and round in circles we grind.
Past is past you always say.
Let the ripples fan your waters edge
plug the doubts and come to bed.
Deflated you always do that.
Tossing me ad-hoc into the beaten protesters drawer.
I recall the ever growing tally of points recorded.
How noticeably, noticeable still NO
recognition accredited to me.
I wonder –
why do you sleep with your mouth wide open
and your eyes half shut?
The want to stuff a doughnut in your face –
causes me to smile.
Just a small private celebration a fleeting
parting, of the lips.
It lodges profoundly – hurt always does.
Though I don’t imagine I’ll ever leave.
I have no magic carpet hidden deep within
You are my hunger pangs a gnawing nightmare
constantly eating away at the same old flesh –
You sleep whilst I conspire in imaginary flights
my Beelzebub ever snapping round my heels.
Is this what you and I are really all about?
Poppy 2013 ~xx~