Di(e)chotomy

It seems like most days
Existence is a chore more than a blessing,
Like that last breath would suffice as a finale,
As though this chord poured every inch of effort out of me – a whole blues band contained in that note.

Tilted Windmills

She says it’s magic,
Calls it wond’rous,
this tragic madness crashing thund’rous,
loud as a blunderbuss between these ears,
where windmills tilt
to subdue these fears.

Venus Gave Me Furs

She wrapped them around me,
Mistress casting me out in the cold,
A savage beating left me breathless,
But she still tried to keep me warm.

A Nile 8

Whether in the throes of victory or basking in the deepest pain,
The thought’s always the same,
Let me die now, there’s nothing more I need gain,
But I open my eyes each day to the same refrain,
Get up, get out, get back,
Lay down, next morning do it again.

Gallows Wind

There is a breeze likening more and more as to a gale
battering against these gallows I have wrought for myself.

Water – NaPoWriMo #.1

This started as a poem but turned into something else entirely. Very narrative but certainly not in any kind of structure or meter – there’s a little rhyming and some alliteration but that hardly qualifies. Good to be writing again like this, and I’m not going to refrain from posting it, but I’m going to mark this and any subsequent accidental prose this month with a hashtag-decimal. This came to mind after reading Rachel McKibben’s Writing Exercise #50, where I replaced a put-down/upon person for an anthropomorphized object and then did bad things to it. I hope you enjoy.

Suicide

Pulse barely there now,
The pills went down well with juice,
Sleep will take me soon.