Poetry Attempt: Unsuccessfully Making Sense of Returning Grief

 I haven't been able to write in a while. It all came down again. A low period. An unshakable grip from the barren desolation of an overwhelming abyss. I don't think I really mean anything I've written in this poem, well, I guess some of it I do mean and feel to a horrible degree. But it isn't fair to still be writing about this drivel. I thought I moved on, or I was moving on, but it all came back to me in such a horrific way and I don't know what to do but to force myself to write it all out in a desperate attempt to get rid of it all. It doesn't work. But I was beginning to feel horribly disgusted with myself for not being able to write for a while, and this particular piece of writing is a woeful return to poetry and is quite frankly a mess that I do not wish to edit or reread or revisit ever. However, maybe I got it out of my system. The next thing I write will be free of ruminations of this particular person who has all but ruined me and will hopefully be ruminations on the person who deserves my attention and my thoughts and my creative output (or lack thereof). That's all. For anyone reading this that actually cares, I'm sorry. 

Someone’s Got To Suffer

I can never leave. 

Dull ache of graying days

Assaulting my skull with unwanted reminders 

Of noxious tears spilt 

And sickly fractures of time

The great rupturing

Life-ending betrayal with no signs of remorse 

A yawning abyss of a past 

Possessing me and rendering me immobile

And emotionally strung-out

Smashing my head against mosaic window panes

That poorly depict images of you I wish to forget.

Get out. Exorcise the knowledge of who you truly are

And unshackle me,

Unchain my frail, unnecessary life

From your breaking wheel of indifference

Calmly pulling my limbs apart

Leaving me in the discolored, vulture-filled sky.

You don’t care about the painful severance

Or the world I’ve been made to leave behind,

If only I didn’t either,

All aspects of it lying dead

And forever too far to even try to grasp.

What’s to become of me? 

Does it matter at all? 

Stuck in a dead cold in July

Listening to synthesizer wires cut out

And whine in dying electricity

Church bells melt 

All the starving children celebrate their snapped necks 

As they swing and laugh from nylon nooses

Cascading from my ceiling

Succumb to fever 

There’s a masticated carcass of a doe at my feet

Swollen, blackened tongue birthing maggot eggs 

That I cup in the holes in my hands and feed myself with 

Soon I’ll be found as just the same

Gases expand, my eyes will pop and dissolve

Like I’ve always wanted them to.

Distended organ tissue will slump and spill out

Snuffed out and made an example of,

A statistic of failure

A life unlived

But there’s not enough courage to guide my hand to that state

To unwrap my betrayed heart from rusted abandoned bed frames 

And annihilate it

Rending it to shining little pieces

Ready to paint your dulling face 

Where I met eyes with the living dead. 

Poorly embalmed or existing forever in pain,

You wouldn’t care  

As long as you don’t observe the fallout

Of all your bitter ways.

Exiled and lost in a fetid maelstrom,

A hell of your creation, 

I know it will all pass,

But when? 

A storm of broken barbed wire

The chaos of unreciprocated devotion 

A life wasted in service of nothing

Patchouli oil searing off my flesh 

Overwhelming power of your forsaken tears

And your inexplicable ability to ignore mine,

It all sinks back into me 

A forced entry 

Causing ripples in the undead spirit,

The sacrificial love I offered up to you,

Wasted, dejected, transformed 

And siphoned back into my open veins

A source of guided self-destruction

Why now? No definitive respite exists anymore

I’ve gifted you too much power

And don’t have enough control

Will this be all I ever know? 

I wish I didn’t think

The paralyzing cloud of darkness descends 

I look for flowers to pick 

For the corpse of you I’m left with 

But there’s no life anymore

You’ve made sure there would be nothing left alive.

What else is there to do? 

I wish I didn’t feel so much guilt

Over the jangling bottle of pills

Promising to expunge my meaninglessness 

The label reads; swallow enough and blossom 

Smother yourself in nonexistence.

It’s all so foolish

I should have known from the start,

Entwining my life irrevocably with yours only meant

Someone’s going to suffer. 

Snapping off tree branches in the foreign, barren forest 

I impale myself all over and await the hungry shadows 

To spell out my last days

My stomach bile churns, head falls to numbness

I search for more skin to rip off

My already raw, bleeding fingertips,

Left wondering what flowers might bloom

From the forgotten tomb of my suicide. 

-

-