poetry of the Dark, Erotic, Violent, Religious & Macabre

Posts tagged “Blues

dark lover on a beautiful horse

you will not enjoy this, he alleged

as the inner child died in me

as the inner child cried in me

and the first drop of blood

dribs in the form of a delirium

stranded somewhere

between the oath of evil and

the darkness`s of pleasure

 

the second blood …

it splattered     like a sunburst

because

we want dark lovers

on beautiful horses

but we instead get men

who shower us with flowers

and stand outside our bedroom windows;

 

no doubt

he sees my soul

when he peels back

the black lash of curtains

and seizes that lone tear drop

 

on your belly, he demands my body

a one hand noose wraps around my throat

the other          guts, then splays open my wisdom

obscured by desperation; I need this `just breathe, okay?`

 

and he wants to do me

with a dildo and a vibrator

where one stimulates

and one penetrates

but my flesh is not the digital masque

these buttons that he de`presses

do not send me into a virtual ecstasy

why do you waste your time? I dare ask.

 

but there`s a fault in my system

a pheromone that calls to the unsavory

as he leaves me standing vacant

at the window

struggling to breathe

kicking my feet, pussy gushing blue

as I continue to feel the strangle

of his con`sexual violation;

he was a caller, a gentleman just before dawn

walking down that promiscuous dirt road

where the crossroads of my uncertainty

pointed the way in arrows; he never looks back

 

and I never look forward … I don`t know

if it even was a rape as it felt like winter

in bedlam

 

still … it was something even

if it had no meaning.

 

I light a cigarette          and inhale

because it`s the best I can do for the moment


rape`possessed

vocal is raspy … carries

like a crime that breaks its back

upon the spotlight of my breasts;

 

a nipple sings the blues, thus creates a hue ~

I am that sunburst fracturing in his mouth;

 

nicotine strains my fingers – pussy & index

taste its pleasure while the rest of my flesh

fights the urge …

 

he has to submerge himself

 

drag

exhale

 

I

 

drag

and he

exhales

 

come back to bed          bitch,

he whimpers like skeletons locked in closets

only visible through the plumes they smoke;

 

hair pulls through my scalp

as I remember picking dandelions

in the cold summer

one callous blow, and their fetuses scatter to the wind …

bastard children they are

in search of their fathers in all the mistresses

that had shaped him;

 

legs spread like withered wings

pussy`iron`butterfly, I wants to fly     fly fly

but the air is oxygen`less

and crushes the lungs … he has a system

for lying on top of me, hips gyrate

pelvis rapes in rhythmic emotions ~

 

he humps

he breathes

breathes harder / faster / slower

then there`s nothin`

but a silence deadlier than death

 

and I want more;

 

I        I don`t know what to make of his company

only that I`m obsessed with gazing at him

through a sort of a looking glass mirror … his cock

it stands     high, erect, the tallest building

and I want to be a bird

and perch upon it, slip my beak

in between the crack of his slit

and purge the se`men

who have sailed my woman`ship

out of the harbor

only to have my broken body

float back in;

 

did I tell you I missed you, motherfucker?

missed the intrusion despite the illusions fabricated?

 

90 proof booze on the table

I am bent over the table

and I see the RCA spinning

a damsel in heated distress …

I smell cubano leaves burning

and hear the agony

of third world slaves

echo`ing from the cinders

smoldering in your mouth ~

your chest heaves wildly

in the land of sodomization,

your cock stretches my anal womb

each push is a masochistic thrust of trust

just don`t shit     on my cock, you whispere`d

you brush back my pubic hair / wipe the tears from my lips

she`s coming up the stairs

and the best I can do

is swallow you in,

and pull you through

the broken hymens of society

so when the door opens

she`ll never know

we did things in the dark

 


if you ask me, Mother Goose was just another scapegoat

(Such a poem riffed in simplicity

but why does it bring so much contradictories?)

 

a red Rose is the least of a Child`s interest

only that it`s the main color

in a box of crayons next to black; and

the color of their favorite toy car; and

the color of a little girl`s dress

that isn`t quite a Sunday best

if it has laces and bows

and shows above the knees;

 

Violet is a flower

and has no memory of being blue

if it`s blue it`s due

to the children stepping and

stomping on their whimsical petals

as children can be so quite cruel;

no unusual punishment there …

 

children don’t know

that they are succulent sweet

they only know how to eat the Sugar

then they think you`re a perv

for using such a dirty word

to describe them;

 

to an Adult there is nothing

rosey about red that

it only brings dread on Valentine`s Day

if she doesn`t receive her dozen Roses

all vibrant, long stemmed, un`thorny

if you`re expected to be loved by her at all;

 

lovers do not think of Violets of blue

they are not botanists just civilians

trying to survive the headaches of

fashioning a garden to entertain the sane;

bring color to life in an obvious ashen world;

 

and what of the Sugar

as we are all obviously not as sweet

like the treats found in a drug store;

we are sour and sore and we want more

than what our cavities can endure …

 

 

poetic observation taken from “Roses Are Red“, a 1784 Mother Goose Nursery Rhyme; not exactly a fave of mine