Skip to main content

Would I bleed if I said I'd like to kick a god?

From there I awoken the blood rushed forth through my nostrils and into my tongue
(Bang! Bang! Bang!)
She was banging on my door, and in my bed I hear her calling my name
Once again bringing me back my consciousness and troubled thoughts
I mutter, I mutter, I mumble to myself, reminding me of the hate of being interrupted in my sleep
I rose to my feet and paid little thought to my unkempt hair, wondering what it was that she woke me up for
(One last Bang!)
Before I opened the door, smiled at her precariously, greeted her stare in red underwear
Fortunately for both of us my phallus was calm and sore as the heat of the gloomy afternoon
Blood rushed to my head, felt something amiss between my teeth
Blood literally gushed forth in sputum form and almost choked me with it
The taste I can still feel inside me rushing, a locomotive sensation, unbridled
All the while she was talking and talking and talking to me
All the while I was nodding and nodding and nodding to her
My strength collapsed in that frail state of mine
There was nothing that could impose me into bludgeoned calm
Everything around me was tender, all but harsh
As she strolled there and about my room and the next in search of an answer
Mine was on my reveries waiting to be told, it rings, I answered
Lifeless images and vivid recollections sprang forth from my frivolous imagination
She began to dance in front of me dressed in blanched gown
Her horrible face remain notwithstanding, hard to digest
My fist crawled to a sphere wanting to mend its maker
As her demands slowly come piling up, whether or not I like it, she says
In between dreams, you see yourself create new realities, mine was my own personal limbo
Where I could have anything and everything I could have ever thought of and imagined
But still I decided to go against it thinking that my blood is not worth the price for this wasted longevity
Her gown was gone but she still stood right there and continued speaking
I fell to my own deeds and gave myself a new uprising
Wrapped my head in towel, tiptoed towards the shower, gave myself a clean thought
Yet I could still smell the faecal scent of air looming
Brushed my teeth with that same smell, I made friends with disgust
Turning towards my eye, I could see the reflection to my soul
She stood waiting in my room, gasping for air in the balcony right after gulping the same air where I was
Picture her dying in my thoughts, falling from the balcony, dying from her asthma, or all
My hand met my face and woke me up once again, only five minutes in to the shower and I was done
Pay me partly for her crimes, I say, as I would for myself someday
The trousers hang about waiting for the last call and there I was staring at it like a fly to faeces
I inhaled the thought and gave me warmth and high, she smelled my sock and found my sentimental photograph
Beside my pillow where I left it a couple of seconds after I stood up awake
And I turned the thought of having to smash her head with it, pardon my rudeness
Today was not my cup of day
Just like the day before yesterday and the day before that

Popular posts from this blog

And then...

Four hours and ticking and I cannot seem to be copacetic to the privacy of her suspicious absence. How could I be when frightening tremors had shook their country just earlier today? It has been quite common to read about earthquakes rocking Italy recently, and the more these events take place, the more people feel less surprised about the fatalities. At the moment, I can sit on this chair being bothered by Starbucks personnel every half an hour or so, waiting for updates of Miriam's whereabouts. Surely she would be safe. I suppose my fears always come back to bite me in my arse. This is a farcry from mine fears. Far be it from the truth, I will not let it tear me asunder. She will be back to me soon enough, and then it would not take long before she will be in my arms, singing praises of our love, beneath the starry sky and our duvet. There is this unusual feeling of dread knowing that tomorrow I will be once again immersed into a job that I do not love; a return to form; of bei…

Strange Fruit

I had recently adorned a vow of silence for myself with Miriam for no apparent reason whatsoever other than to suit my whim, and, regardless of the pettiness associated with this misdemeanour, I pray this will only strengthen us both in spirit for the coming days. The coming days are definitely not meant for one such as me.
In the next few hours, not shortly before I am done with this piece, this vow will be disavowed. Miriam is sleeping soundly in my right, broken by the exhaustion that seemed to catch her unaware. This was not what she had prepared for when coming to London. This was not what I meant for her when I asked her to come. In order to alleviate the guilt of me making it more difficult for us both, I do what it is that I do best, and that is to love her hungrily and wildly. And some little bit of swag on the side to cure her state of frustration albeit temporarily.
My days are long and yet wields very little. For now I do and take whatever I can, whenever I can. A grand f…

Decide my fate for me

As though the wind may pass with golden steps from shallow graves, the warmth of her hands could not defeat January weather in England, proving that tests of fate weigh heavier than the insidious intentions of a warring tribe. Perhaps it is high time I engage in other methods more worthy of personal consideration. She left me in the cold when my reality cloaked in malady was in full motion, sweating icicles in the interior, punching my guts in gutsy ups and gutsy downs. She was my meaning. She is my void.