The Sink -For R.L.

What is hell
If not where I dwell

The art of death
Oh Master

You will pay to see
My scars self inflicted

Down deep faces blur
Do I feel?

Nothing but that
Damn nagging urge

Quick escape
Pain so good

Sylvia’s Oven
Hemingway’s Fairwell to Arms

Mary’s Percy drowned
Hunter now hunted

xanax, prozac, lithium
zyprexa, zoloft, celexa

Ocean color pills
The Cure

Like Robert Smith
Boys don’t cry

Triggers
Potato chips I sneak at night

Blame my abuse
Or the abuse

Im dying again, not quick enough
sticky peanut butter memories

Like my boys coming home
With memories of body parts

Killers under orders
Highs from steroids

Wanting to return to Army war games
And battlefields

Where the rage in this age
Awards the Medal of Honor

How do we separate human
From animal

Killer from hero
We all wish to erase haunting hours

Control alludes me as I will never be
normal, loved, accepted

Inevitably I fail again
Even my dreams

Escape me
This world human

But am I?
Cravings of sex

All I’m good for
Rage so black

The sink
I’m sinking

No light ahead
Dark as dead

I desire/detonation
I destruct

Impact forever lasting
Dear God so aware,

My demons beware.
Out of hell we arise

Breathing death like air.


This is a poem off my poetry site. Yeah I twist and spin on Sylvia's 1962 poem. But I feel this. I'm going to take the comments off this site. My writing is so few and far between to be part of the community. I am writing, oh yes, but there are stalker freaks/family members, wanna be family etc that want to persecute me for writing and try to kill/silence me.

well i say this

silence = death

I look at you in the face head strong and keep going on. Revenge is a dish best served cold. as kahn said. lol

thanks for reading guys.