White Fists…

Sometimes the white fists of old
pound relentlessly upon my door.
I offer them nothing outside a life’s long; silent loathing.
– To speak
would recognize another days
dark rhythmic hate.

They appall me
The self invited who long outstayed
their NO reservations vacation.
My eyes rebellious in resistance –
arms outspread pushing back the distance.

Turning the key in the ignition,
I fail over and over again to kick start
this cold flat mornings birth.
Lifeless
Fucked between all negative and the positive.
Tell me some more lies
about my so called intimate friends
It stops me thinking myself completely alone…

 

Poppy July 2013 ~xx~

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s