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My veins are knotted,

Epileptic and weary.

They churn the anxiety.

Morphing them into confetti.

But a pebble was cast

And landed at a junction.

Then from there, she grew.

A babe, she pirouette from the blood.

She coils my neck, whispers her vices.

Wrapped them in velvet, lace and cotton.

She sponsors the whiskey too,

wore it like a dress. She smiles.

“Darling, foxtrot with me. Away from here.”

But I knew her scheme,

A bard for an informal religion.

Buried under obese sloth and pity.

I simply weep my eyes

And reached for my bow.

Exposing my wrist,

The bow glazed each artery

And each confetti evaporates

Into a party of allegro.

The babe covered her ears.

Tsk. “Honey, please love me.”

“Leave and bliss will embrace your pores.”

But I kept playing and playing.

Eventually the babe drowned.

Straight to her hell.

I won’t miss her.

Because she was no muse of mine.

Reviews

[Elizabeth]

A really powerful and dark poem.
I got chills reading it. Truly amazing.
Thank you for sharing this wonderful poem

[T.C Matthews]

Thank you so much for your words. I'm glad the poem had such a profound effect on you. Really grateful for your comment and take care.

[Elizabeth]

you're welcome