My eyes are closed.
What words will flow,
who knows?
The pen dances
on the page
where words are free
from their cage.
My eyes are closed.
Imagination runs,
an idea grows.
What once stood still
is an active scene
played out on the pages,
ream by ream.
Walking was enough to cure
the heartache you caused
and this pain I endure.
Until walking was not enough
to clear my mind and heart
from your balked bluff.
Now I walk all on my own
with not even a shadow
of what was once known.
If I had walked away sooner
maybe there would be
some semblance left
of me.
Another day in the books
as the dust settles overhead;
six feet under looks better
when you’re not dead.
The gunshots ring
as smoke fills the air;
your lungs grow weaker
until you’re not there.
Plain clothes,
undercover in a sea
of disdain.
Fighting just to breathe
and keep my head
out of the rain.
Marked by wounds
that cut far deeper
than the vein.
Singed by the fire
I started simply
to ease the pain.
The blood, it doesn’t stop,
but I like the way it feels
like all the sins of today
are leaving just in time.
The warmth leaves my body,
pooled on the floor
as my skin grows colder
with every drop I lose.
Why’d you have to stop it
when it was simply meant to be?
I never asked to be saved
by anyone but me.
Your beauty exceeds the standard,
as do all your other traits:
your cleverness,
your eagerness,
your ruthlessness.
The skin you wear so well
would make a perfect pair of boots
so then I could walk on you
as you have done on me.
The last time you called,
I cut the call short.
I had too much to do
and you, too little to report.
Shortly after the call,
you would never call again
since Death called on you
as he does on all men.
Some regret I should feel
or even sorrow since you passed,
but the only thing I feel
is an emptiness that will last.
Cold and bitter,
lashing away,
making flesh raw.
Colors change
as life departs
on a one-way trip.
Dark and dreary,
a blanket of night,
making eyes blind.
Wounds won’t heal
as deep as bone,
all alone.
Last man standing
was the first to rise
and battled his way,
no fear in his eyes
as the merciless foe
took his disguise,
enjoying each moment
of desperate cries
and knowing each breath
filled the air with lies
as the last man standing
stares while he dies.
Maybe you should go
before promises become regrets
and sleepless nights
break out into cold sweats.
Maybe I should go
and save you the pain
of keeping hope alive
for this helpless brain.
Autumn Siders 