ronksenior's profile

DARKNESS FALLS IN THE CITY OF ANGELS Paradise has been paved over. Yes America, here they are… all your rancid dreams, your pointless gestures, served up to you by these blood-stained hands. How do you like them now? Now that you see them in a new light. How do you like them now? How easy it is for one such as I to freely roam your shitty streets like a cancer through an old man’s veins. I am what you have made me… a head full of failed dreams, a heart full of fear and hatred, a stomach full ...

I know a girl whose father became a wolf, one night he changed his skin and with hackles raised stalked her dream. She buried her head in the darkness and prayed that maybe the beast would not scent her would pass her by. The night he found her she whispered her secrets to the moon who cast a blind eye offering no solace or light. Now she sits in shadow and cuts away her pain cursing the moon, and in a dark room in a cold corner of her mind a wolf pelt hangs her dreams stuck to it like blood.

Don't you remember? Memories leave scars. There was a woman. Isn't there always? Once upon a time. Of course. I didn't mean to. You never do. Where are we going? Look behind you. Can you help me? I should let you bleed. Give me your hand. No touching allowed. Don't you love me? Love means never- God is love. God is dead. Everything will be ok. Sure. There will be time. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Death Poem for Anne Sexton You finished as you should with a stealthy little death poem stuck in your chest like a mill-stone chained there with words just heavy enough to pull you under... O for how long have I wished that I could write my own epitaph? Instead I wander here on the crumbling sidewalks of Mercy Street fishing for compliments from the dead.

Death Poem for Anne Sexton My first... You finished as you should with a stealthy little death poem stuck in your chest like a mill-stone chained there with words just heavy enough to pull you under... O for how long have I wished that I could write my own epitaph? Instead I wander here on the crumbling sidewalks of Mercy Street fishing for compliments from the dead.