Such deadened flesh.

What more hidden depths lie beneath the murky surface of memories.

Step by step, I seem to be reverting back into my old ways; every pounding footfall upon gravel surfaces pulls me down the path of destruction. I blame my crave for perfection; it is an ever changing and heightening impossibility that my desperate and bloody claws grasp for every second of eternity. It drains me of the remaining energy given to this sack of bones; every fall brings another tear upon ravaged flesh.

I roar in anger and resentment, tears glisten on my weakening form. I will not give the beast the pleasure of seeing me break, turn tail and flee, beneath the gaping mouth of contempt I take flight, my dampened and charred feathers soar with me. Relish cold breeze upon burnt silk.

The flame of her hate annihilated my delicate membranes; no scream passed these scorched lips. Her anger grew with my refusal, the flame grew, till it tasted and spread through my veins, my blood its oil of choice. Come, come little burning soul, come eradicate me of my hope, please extinguish my inspiration. Come little one, devour my soul, I sacrifice myself for the power of your control.

Perhaps this is the root of my desire for pain, though it has now transcended desire: it has become a dependence. A violent addiction to my own self-destruction. At least I am the one holding the knife: my shiny whispering darling. Oh let me into your shadowed interior sweet one. In causing me agony, it is the only thing I can trust that won’t betray my broken formalities.

I love the darkness, I thrive in it, and laid bare I give myself to the shadows. To feast on my weakness, lap up my bleeding whispers. The pain becomes pleasure in the darkness; the night blankets my disgust and illuminates my aspiration. Lips become objects of hypnotism, no one sees the scars upon carved flesh. My imperfections become splendour in the night; murdering waves caress bloodied mouths and wash away sin.

I am overcome with the desire to mutilate myself, to cause the slip and drip of blood spinning down from a carcass of pointless meat-covered joints. It is a craving that feeds on the pain of my heart. This undeniable height of my worth causes the criss-crossing anger to be a constant mar upon my frigid flesh, when perfection is never reached the blade shall never cease in its whispering doubt.

I step into the darkness, shrouding myself in obliviousness: if I do not know of the men who go bump in the night, then I can not fear them; cannot smell their stale breath ghosting, clammy over my porous flesh, divulging under the holes of dirt and vile mess into my stream. Contaminated thoughts lace and tangle, entwining inside my blood, robbing the concavity of its usual resident to ride throughout my cobwebbed interior until everything within, turns to dust.

I’m terrified of them all, all those insignificant thoughts that I claim to be uncaring of. I can hold protection over the idea of individuality, but I breed lies. Wrap your arms around me distrust and clean me of my weakness, lie awake in the midst of a monsters hunger, awake into the wee hours of the morning, lie still as the birds yawn, unaware of your despair; the pull death has on your bones drags you to your knees. Sink teeth into my grease, rid me of my disease, and feast on my phobias.

A husk shall be all that is left when they scuttle out of my dead eyes, glazed over in the fear of what can never be seen. They wonder why she kept herself in the darkness all this time, no one will cry for the loss of her introverted life. No one knew her; though of course that was her plan all along, string no one behind so that no one is hurt. Always knew she was not long for this plane.

Gasp, sweat, shakes: a trembling uncertainty strangles. Stuck in my throat the scream dies, dart eyes around. Dreaming, always dreaming, here the monotonous merry-go-round of life comes to a halt, to rust, a memory in her recesses. Laughter does not accompany the mustered joy of her childhood. We know demands, expectations, shouts and physical reminders of the worthlessness born into my marrow.
No false pretensions here, no sir.

Get that candle away from this place! Light does not belong here, not by me; watch out the flammable oil that coats my surface spreads to those too close. Come with me and you shall also be consumed, hold my hand and walk into the flames. Grow and bloom in the flame of a temptress with a heart of stone. Ignite within me the bones of my enemy; with the power of an army, I bear the brunt of a tornado of emotions. My fury shall over power the flames and turn the sky to a blackness that bleeds red with the tears of the fallen.

The earth shall swallow me whole, and I embrace the soil of my birth, fecund beauty root me to your knowledge, tie me with bark and stone to the grave of my forefathers. Let me know the stories and truths that lay within your warm beating pulse.

Above me the sky weeps, turn my face to catch the hurt upon my lips, stained red with the scarring of my past. Lead me not into religion but into the hands of the ocean. Deliver me upon my alter of bones to the depths; an entire ecosystem may gorge itself upon my body. In death, I swim with the eyes of a hundred.

Reviews

[Disillusioned]

Written as if a giant burst forming a new sun; powerful, palpable, and brilliant. The raw edge pours liquid agitations down the page in virtual ink blots to be deciphered by readers towards the vision they most want to perceive. Spectacular, and both beautifully hopeful and melancholia at the same time.

[torments_scribe]

Wow! This was absolutely beautiful, and I had to just sit and stare at the screen in awe for a moment before I even felt as though I could move my fingers. Breathtaking construction and impeccable imagery, I felt the words sear through and stir in my soul as if staring down the face of death and challenging it to pull me away. Brilliant beyond all shades of the word!!! I'm astounded.

[Ms. Gruye]

Here you have emoted all over this page, my friend. It's contrasts are blindly sharp. Each stanza stands on it's own (they even look like solitary blocks, stacked like legos against the sun). You use consistent imagery to match the emotion of hatred and pain.

I really enjoy a poem when the poet can use imagery to evoke a feeling, rather than just tell me the feeling. I feel your piece will be able to do just that if paired down a bit to let the words sing.

viva la

[Plagued Monumentally]

I really like it.
To me it showed that its so hard to get rid of bad habits and the pleasures that are bitter sweet.
The last line was a perfect story closer.