Dates With Demons

A poem for two (but really one).

Spoken by Voice 1/Voice 2/Together

Pain.

Soft, melancholy whispers of a stilled brook.

Hot angry coals bubbling with regret and disgust, disgust and- Pain.

Pain so deep and gutting, sharpened like a butchers knife before the slaughter. Striking faster than the goddamn lightning in my stormy mind that you could see the pointed tip of the blade between my perfectly plucked brows.

We’d always been friends. More than friends. He came to the door, his crooked teeth in a twisted,-Twisted like the gnarled branch of a yellowing wood, a manifestation of character too obvious to miss- heart-aching smile. White teeth flashing in the sun like a canine halo.

Told me I looked hot. Not sun-scorching hot or desert scalding. Not molten or radiant as the sun.

Just “hot”

I smiled, but what I really wanted to hear was beautiful.

The movie was okay. He kissed me. His tongue devoured my lips. It was passionate- It was controlling. One of those scenes you watch with heart-wrenching adrenaline.

But I left feeling scarred and empty afterwards.

Action- but no plot.

But I put the pain aside and kissed him back. And then we went home. As a couple.

Days Passed. Months passed. Eternities passed. Delicate grasps of my wrists turned into subtle crackings of the scaphoid. Playful nudges turned into erratic shoves of dominance, as if somehow the sprain of a wrist or marks of a hand could make up for decades of his own sorrows.

Bruises appeared mercilessly. It was as if the devil had decided to make me the poster-girl of human shame, airbrushing my porcelain skin with blotches of society’s sins. He was seeing how far he could push me towards the edge before someone noticed.

But for now, extra-long sweaters and the right shade of foundation would be enough to hide.

I couldn’t look at him anymore. I had been face to face with Anti Christ himself, yet couldn’t look my boyfriend in the eye.

Two older brothers was no excuse. A dead mother was no excuse.

And being a man was definitely no excuse.

For the scars, both visible and hidden-that his own decisions ravaged upon me.

My pain is no one else's fault but his.

Author's Note

Don't hold back! Hate and love are both forms of passion!

Reviews

[Cloud Andrews]

This is an amazing poem. I loved how everything clicked together, the italicized and bold coming together. Also how you described pain and each situation, such as the 'hot' stanza was incredible. I've never read anything quite like this and I thoroughly enjoyed this! I feel like there should be a part two to continue the story of the poem if thats possible. Keep it up!

[Evangeline Allyson Monr..]

This is awesome! I loved reading it. I added it to my favorites so I can read it again. I think that adding in the two voices and the together parts really added something. I loved the descriptions and it followed so mellifluously! And thanks for reading my poem, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed reading yours!

[Amy]

I love every word, you have for sure moved my thoughs.

[BillyGirl]

This was an interesting read. A little different to other poems I read. Great job! :)

[Dean]

Indeed they are. You asked me to be "your friend" and that's fine, but I see no elaboration of your brief profile. Help me out, here.

[Syren Creates]

Wow ... really strong and emotional. Great poem!