December falls upon my eyes;
I am scared as hell.

The numbness of limbs,
the sorrowful gray
that casts over me and you
and what we once used to be.

December will be the death of me,
I know for sure
because this time
I sit alone with my sword unready
and the candle flickering.

The winds will whisper
in my ear, things I already know
and unto you,
the realization that will never come.

December,
I am afraid.
I am not strong enough
to face you.

I am a selfish poet.
I am a narcissist.
Yes,
I like to re-read my poetry.
Thinking to myself,
"Oh! You nailed it with that line!"
Then,
I won't write for months.
Don't want to give the people too much.
Keep them guessing,
wanting more.
What happens when they don't want more.
In a bright room,
I'm the dark center.
In a dark room,
I'm still the dark center.
That's the great thing about being a selfish poet.
I can always imagine being the center.

Reflection, you aren't me.
I know your beauty, but it's your flaws I see.
The you in the mirror, the me in my head
Seem like they could never be wed.

Your eyes, they change, your cheeks are flushed,
Your skin remains freckled, but your spirit is hushed.
You seem so off, like something's wrong
And has been wrong all along.

So strong the song of emotions I feel,
I suppose that's what you want to conceal.
Conceal that they're real, you pesky reflection,
Pretend that will get you perfection, connection

You can fool the others all you want,
Just please remember that it's me you haunt.
You looking off makes me seem tainted,
Imperfect, unfinished to those with whom I'm not acquainted.

Even when I feel lively to me you seem dead.
We're not alike, the you in the mirror, the me in my head.
Refelection, you aren't me.

Shorter skirts and lower tops,
They're doing anything to get noticed.
Smoking and drinking to fit in
To a world that has changed forever.

Increasing teen pregnancy
And teen dads that walk away.
Fifteen has become the new twenty
And kids aren't kids anymore.

What was once cool became lame
And girls became more and more shallow.
Caking make up on their faces,
Pulling duck faces at the camera.

As we are more connected
We interact less.
Technology ensures seeing people less.
Getting to know someone face to face
Will soon become non existent.

We live in a world that's evolving backwards,
By caring less about others and who they are.
Popularity has become a bloodbath
And people are shallower then the sink.

It would be nice to live in a world
That was evolving forwards.

He said,
She said,
madness.
The cup is filled to the brim.
It is spreading,
not like a plague.
Please accept this illness as a sign of our good will.
Things will get darker before they
explode.
There is a reason for everything.
The plan has been laid out for
the world to mend.
He said that she said
pick the apple.
The voices become a roar,
echoing through the frontal lobe.
Where does the madness begin?
It begins with us.
It ends with us.
We are the complication.
We are the unbalanced equation.
He she,
she said,
madness.

Broken glass falling on the altar,
trees sprouting through the walls.
The priest has long left.
This congregation
scattered to the wind.
Once a proud building,
a place of faith.
Saints and sinner coming together.
Now welcomes,
feral cats and one night sleepers.
Lying awake on
torn down pews,
staring up at tarnished murals.
Lord,
watch over us,
if just for tonight.
Jesus was brought precious metals.
The copper is stolen from the AC unit.
The structure is boarded up.
Shut out.
Remembering what it used to be,
trying to forget its future.

You said you
wanted to hold me
because I feel;
wanted to
run your hands on my skin;
taste the baseline
in the hopes it'd
make you heal.

My stone face
chuckled inside
as if wounds get
mended by smiles
and aftermath
gets cleared
by denial.

It's a momumental
discension of sociopathy
human feet
shuffling
shuffling
away from the empathy.

So you want to
touch me,
drag me into
the abyss
of your kiss
because I represent
what you miss?

This predatory energy
is disrupting the synergy
of Us.

Why do humans
long so deeply
for the things
that keep them weeping?


Beaten down
blue in the soul
stand by watching
chemical clouds unfold
and you want
just one moment
or an hour of my time
before you go?

If I placed a mirror
in front your face
you'd still only see
what your mind creates,
a mirage
a wish
a death grip in your fist,
caring only if
you'll get to win.

Another notch.
Another barrel.
Another halo snapped in half,
this is the aftermath
of a sky gone cold
and here you are
wanting to
hold me.

v.k poetry
venniekocsis.com
copyright @ dbv publishing 2011

I am the narcissist that
fell in love with my own
mind and sadly found out:
It's an abusive relationship.