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MV Blake Apr 2015
I'm tired of waiting,
Just ******* die.
Too harsh?
Perhaps a delicate massage
Before I snap your neck,
Like wringing out a mouse
The cat dragged in,
Its poor beggar body
Broken in the cat's sin.
Perhaps a drink,
Spiked with hatred
Distilled in glass warning
Skulls and crossbones
Tucked behind the tray of biscuits
And endless chocolate ice cream cones.
Is it so hard to do?
Just stop breathing, shut it off,
Stop the heart.
Perhaps you can hold your breath,
Like the countless times I held mine
When I was forced to breathe in yours
While I swabbed your chin,
Dabbing up a dinner
That should have gone straight in.

Just die and get it over with.

I don't mean it.  Not really.

No I don't want you in a home;
They can't care for you like me.
Who will give you all the hugs
That you would give for free?
Its not that they won't care for you,
Or wipe your chin from drool,
Or even change your dress at night
After you had laid a stool.
It's just that they don't love you
And it's my curse to repay
All the love you gave to me
From birth through night and day.

Don't be mad at me,
I don't want you to go,
But I'm so tired of waiting;
No, I know that you don't know.
S R Mats Apr 2015
"Oh, Harry!  Harry is that you?"
The old lady calls to the young man passing by.

"I have looked for you everywhere, but could not find you.  
Why are they keeping me here, Harry?"

And when he pats her hand and bids her goodbye,
his heart is breaking;

For he wishes with all his being to have had her same recognition.
This scene is played out in homes for the aging repeatedly..
Mike Essig Apr 2015
Watching my
demented mother
water plastic flowers
on her porch,
I come near
to seeing my face
before I was born.
~ mce
Poems by Dayana Dec 2014
I never it made it to the moon back
Think I was just trapped
In one perspective
Two three four
Exponentially growing
Like the vines
Against an old brick wall
That tell a story
There’s history hidden in its creaks
There’s hidden lies
In the curves of her lips
And on her hips
And the she lies awake
Because she can barley sleep
Waiting just to die
She lies dormant
In a past state of mind
Or do you think she’s completely lost her mind
Must be scary to deal
With that kind of fight
Can’t be happy waking up knowing not a single bird in sight
Tell me what happened to her life?
Meg B Dec 2014
Grandma Clarice,
or Chub as I prefer to call her,
is tough as nails.

All 90 pounds of her on her
not-even-five-feet-tall-frame,
she always told the funniest jokes,
and her laugh was one of
those laughs
that just
              reverberated so warm against your
                       eardrums,
contagious like the
common cold,
you couldn't help but catch it.

Chub always made the best pies,
any kind your gluttonous mind could
imagine:
cherry, blueberry, apple, peach, lemon chiffon, anything creamed;
don't get me wrong,
my mama inherited the gene,
her peach pie my absolute favorite
in the summertime,
but still,
mama learned from the master, and Chub was
the master indeed.

Chub was witty,
she was poised,
she was so many things that I
don't even feel like I ever really have figured out
what all she was, she is.
But I can't deny the
memories I have of Chub
smiling
as I played Christmas tunes on the piano,
looking collected and cool as she
whipped up another perfect meal,
her voice inquisitive as she
asked me about school,
the teacher in her proud yet astute.

Chub can't remember anymore,
but I remember for her,
the laughter, the
impeccable odors wafting from her all-white kitchen,
the late night games of Rummikub,
that tough-as-nails Chub who will always
exist in my
memories.
Christian Reid Oct 2014
I am the borrowed time giver
I wait by the edges of beds
I prop up the corners and smooth out the wrinkles
I'm also the turner of heads

I am the lone sea breaker
My whisper it shepherds your dreams
You have awoken on a
Distant shore, it seems

I am the voice of antiquity
Tethered to leaves on the wind
I am the cloth that covers you
When you have sinned

I am the borrowed time lender
Your hope, it rides on my wings
I am the broken mind mender
All I can do is offer you these things

Mine is the touch of changes
Though none of them I can claim
I sweep up the mirror pieces
That reflect your shame

I am the blind leading the blind
I have no secret gift
The truth is what you'll find
When the veil you needn't lift

We are the worm food growers
The crawlers, they rule from below
They eat up the dead and squeeze out the living
And time marches on just so
Christian Reid Oct 2014
Deconstruction has begun
The terror of becoming
Fragmented
Grows into hysteria
And eventually
Surrender
Darkly taking solace
in Comedy
As the puppet master
Chisels lines into your face

Forgetting who you
Used to be
Yielding to chaos
Gideon McCarthur Oct 2014
Thread. Pierce. Weave.
Her leathered fingers pulling it though from one single taut line, until it forms a flowing tapestry of a quilt.
She forgets. The mail. The laundry. The casserole that burned her house down.
The threads are her memories that have been lost. Each one a moment, a place, a person.
She forgets. Their names.
These threads are the last she will weave.
Family acts as thread. The quilt that catches her as she falls farther from herself into an image as faded as the last photo of her husband.
Thread. Pierce. Weave. Thread Pierce Weave.
She forgets. The quilt.
The daughter finds it, and sees a half spelled out name.
She forgets. Her name.
The daughter brings her mother her memories.
The daughter helps guiding her mother’s hand.
Thread. Pierce. Weave. Thread. Pierce. Weave. Thread. Pierce. Weave.
Threads become patches, patches from the cloth.
Thread. Pierce. Weave. Thread. Pierce. Weave.
Mother and daughter weave together an inheritance.
The quilt is finished, a single name. She utters the name she has been trying to find.
She remembers. Her Grandson.
Firefly Sep 2014
The stone, cold sidewalk lay below,
It's getting closer,
I bid the last breath to blow,
Flames, heart-racing,blue-black,windless night.
Tears forming, evaporating.....evaporating.....ditto,
Depression made clear,
Behind eyes,the devil's motto.
Confusion at my right hand,clarity disappears.
Firefighter's water,
My beloved abode no more,
Tears of men,hellfire licking the walls.
I stood,staring from afar,
Drowning in the torment that has come to call,
The world hushed,my vision torn to fragments,
Heat of salty tears.
Everything frozen in time,
My fears forever mine.
Confusion lays unsettled in the bowels of the soul,
Wreathing thick murrain,
Screaming at the misery of the brain.
I was startled,whimpering with bewilderment,
Everything before me in a trance-like state,
Then began awaking.
The men with sweet water,dear,
Starting surging backwards,
Their faces devoid of thought,without fear.
Like rewinding a record,
Time flew backward,
I stumbling,stunned,steel-cold.
Boom!,
Explosions,
I'm unable to move.
Then suddenly I stood up,
Walked unwillingly to the fiery effulgence,
Led by a teasing indecision,an untouched mystery,
Depleted of resilience.

The world stood still once more,
Froze me in place,
I fell into dementia's eye,
Nothing beclouding the gore.
Then regenerating,
Time modulating from cinders,beautiful phoenix,
Reality it began disseminating,
Blurry images flood my sight,
Blood,anger,depression rites,
Recapitulations,I beg for light.

My husband stood before me,weaving misery and woe,
Cursing me,making me small,
Shoving me under,way down low,
He stands as cold as ice,
Yet he burns inside,
He swings,hits,spits,
A love forgotten,
Dead inside.
He cuts me with the knife,
Watches my blood run,
My reality decaying,he's having fun.

Deep in the bathroom tub,
I lay fighting back shivers,
Making in the water red ripples,
Release my body's crave,
I uncovered in my mind a mystical grave.
Such dementia to see him flailing in my hands!

The daydreamed lust seemed inconceivable,
For the fiend still lives.
On our bed I saw him lay,
I remember how me met,
I fell into his arms,
Addicting,like to a powerful drug.
Conceived for evil,hmm,I might've found my way,
The idea came quickly,
I marveled at the absence of my active conscience.
I now creeped down the stairs,slithered!
Choking on hysterics,
On my spine angst lingered.
The kitchen door swung open,I stepped in,
Looking for th'inevitable tools,
Fury flared,kerosene and match I fumbled,
Feeling the arctic love as it crumbled.

So quickly I flew up the stairs,
My,my,my someone's anxious!
Ready to sear him,ignite his cold,fringe his hairs!
I fed my pain with venom-bitter hatred,
Stood ready to fry the *******,
My anticipation was sacred.
I stood before his bed,
Banishing the now present,dark,heavy,penetrating conscience,
The dream inside instead,I fed.
The mind picked up outside,
Midnight blows in through the window,
Dances 'round the room.
The kerosene I quickly threw,
Exiling any regret,
Ready to add the final ingredient to my dark,dangerous brew.
I striked,threw,watched the match,
Spinning through the air,
Waiting for the flames to hatch.
He awoke with the arrival of the fire,
Dark screams I like,
My cold desire.
Mariticide committed,
I tried not to laugh,
Joy was a pain,
Then my shrill scream was echoed by his bones,
Everything fell,the chains of the brain.
I smiled,now a black widow out of her cage,
Beaming at the empty hole of mis'ry,
Finally made satiable,the sin's wage.
Freedom came then,
Shattering,a worthy phenomenon,
It came into my crazy world,
Like a cool and cleansing rain.
                                                      -**Firefly
Firefly Sep 2014
His feet was crunching snow.
The dark was thickest,
Battled only by a single light.
The snow crunched beneath his feet,
But the doe made no noise,
She passed,with confidence,through the trees,
For she was nothing but light.
Deeper and deeper into the forest she led him,
And he walked quickly,
He was sure that when she stopped,
She would allow him to approach her properly,
And then,he assumed, she would speak,
And the voice would help him understand.
At last she came to a halt,
She turned her beautiful head towards him,
And he broke into a run.
A question burned against his cold,
But as he opened his mouth to ask,
She vanished.
He was tired and confused,
There was wetness somewhere,
But everything was muddled,
He only thought of his doe.
He was descending into a dark pool,
His head swung to and fro,
He seemed to forget he couldn't see through dark,
Nor did he realize properly the depths of his dementia.
Waves lapped his chin,
He seemed impervious to the cold,
He walked on,still searching,
A madman's errand.
A sliver of fear penetrated his mind,
A trickle of doubt,
A pinch of awareness.
He was fully submerged and wondering at the burning in his nose,
"Where is my light?"
Lo the doe appeared,
'Ere eve of death,
A ways ahead,before him,
Big silver eyes watching,bitter eyes,
She started deliberately stepping backward,
Wickedly leading him on.
He tried to follow,
His body contorted,
He struggled for breath fuel,
For the poisonous air,
His heart skipped into his mouth.
The doe grinned,
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
He still didn't recognize danger,
He was staring at his doe,
Mesmerized,his eyes confused, his face reflecting fear,
His mind cracked with cold,
The surface of his consciousness broke.
He was withered and shriveled,
Falling into the cold,darkness beyond,
Every pore of his body screaming in protest.
He looked at his doe again,
Somehow remembering,on the threshold of death,
Her face was indifferent,
He tried to force his eyes closed,at least look away,
Her face then changed,
A cold,cruel,contorted mask.
She sneered,
Loving to linger, craving agony, she likes to put her hands in death.
                                                                                                          -**Firefly
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