The Malice Of Her Heart's Content~

~hmmm~

Sometimes we pick our own killers

there is something beautiful and sublime

in being able to define your own death;

Sylvia said

"dying is an art, I do it very well"

but she didn't know the half of it

so she came back

in a bottle of dreams

a genie for a man's madness

a balm of oxidized distress

for the thorn, the daughter

in his side. . . .

by her grave he knelt

a rose detached

spread between the pages of Belle Jar

he took it home

dried it

ground it

mixed it in a mortar with cream

his fingers dipped

spread the soul

across these lips

and really

what's an infant to do

confronted with such bittersweetness

 

I died inside the womb. . . .

I died against the metal edge of the swing

that had no boundaries

and tossed me to the sky

in a wicked game

of catch the bloody girl . . . .

I died in a bed of violets

in a rain of butterflies

while Pan wept amidst brambles

and cleaned the mud out of my hair when all was bled and done . . . .

I died of fevers

fluids tracing warm liquids the length of spine . . . .

I died on a surgeon's table

his scalpel in my soul . . . .

dying is an art

I do it better than any other

but picking your killer

is a masterpiece

so come and get me

I'll meet you on shore

where the sand is soft

and secrets stay buried

and lovers gaze across the waves to the lights of Atlantic City;

the malice of my heart's content

couldn't be made any clearer

I am drawing you a map

in the direction of my tilted smile

 

Sometimes we pick our own killers

but at the pinpoint of wounds

with no take backs

our clever monster unsheaths

and turns the predator

into prey

 

He picked me as his killer

what a load of f***ery

 

 

copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

 

 

Reviews

[OT]

it's just stunning - your ability to craft images and stories - indeed Plath may have been good at dying - but you're good at painting it - sculpting it - brilliant poetry!! and to produce fantastic poetry time after time is just a testament to your skills!! bravo!! I love - "I died in a bed of violets
in a rain of butterflies
while Pan wept amidst brambles
and cleaned the mud out of my hair when all was bled and done . . . ." - nice!!!!

[anne p. murray- LadeeAn..]

What a metaphore of wording; mental images. It spoke to me and mine; it spoke to my brain and heart. We are woman survivers; having learned the lessons of; '"care, but 'beware".
You have a gift of intellectual rhythm

[Ashesh]

Selene, i wish i have not chosen you as my killer cuz this poem paralized me.. i'm yours .. do what you wish! ..:-)) .self-destructive but its you who unfolds the cards. others are dancing on your tunes.. an art in death.. how wonderful is that.. enjoyed reading it.

[Rossen]

Borrowed your line.. > is a masterpiece

[DannyLynne Riley]

Bravo again Ms. Selene...your words often speak to me but there are a few that really touch my heart of hearts...you are such an incredible writer...gifted in your ability and uniqueness... your stamp placed so deliberately inside of every word you write... you do stir souls Selene and nobody is ever the same after stumbling upon your trove of words...sealed and bound in a literary map of yourself that you place at the feet of your readers...this one shines out

[Antonio Valentino]

I love how your genius is able to surprise me each and every time. For me, brilliance is the first order of attractiveness, and this, was gorgeous. Yes, even when we choose a new watch, we are picking our killer...

Double heart this.
Antonio

[Ruth]

The art of our own destruction in words used wisely, this Selene, is outstanding! Bittersweet, a turmoil unleashed, then the devouring of that hunter....which we sometimes do turn around and seek to destroy dread! Excellent!
I am left reeling after reading your work! xx

[Bard Constantine]

Just as stunning and haunting as when I first read it...

Knowing small slivers of your background grants an understanding of the subject matter, and how real the deaths that you speak of were. You are a survivor and bear the scars for proof, just below the surface of curved cheekbone and porcelain skin. This one digs deep, baring a soul that shines with strength...

[JelliFyshKissUs]

Sylvia surely lives in you with every poem you bleed from your fingertips>> Dying is an art, and you, my dovely, do it exceptionally well>> And every time you spill onto the page you take a little piece of us with you>> We've picked you as our killer and you smite us with your pen something heavy>> But I gladly take the blow, because there is something beautiful and sublime in being able to pick my own killer>>

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Yes I guerss we do p[ick our own killers sometimes, especially emotionally... in the true sense of death it isn't how you die it is what you leave behind. A very compeeling piece of writing.