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My aunt has been dead for years now
But she won’t let me rest in peace
She wasn’t one of those people
Who ever said she’d rather die than suffer
So suffer she did
Until her dying breath
And even after that, she suffered
Right up until there no more spasms in her body
Desecrate! Desecrate!
At the funeral, my mother said
We know she’s in a better place
But we can’t help but be selfish and want her here
But I wasn’t being selfish
She wanted to be here, my aunt:
I only wanted what she wanted,
At least sometimes
Before
I cursed her
I desecrated her grave while she slept
Proud to have me by her side
She wished for life
I wished her dead and she died
She suffered the truth of me
And still she wanted to say goodbye
To her beloved niece
I love me some Utopian Fragments (aka Dhyan). Now you can, too. Here’s a really cool one that has to be one of my faves ever….Enjoy
http://utopianfragments.wordpress.com/2012/01/10/the-rulls-of-love-vi/
I was status quo
I was well & good
until a word
Came from his lips
Itsnotright
As a single word instead of the usual three
The doctors might as well confirm for clinical analysis what I’ve always known
I’ll be the death of me
Will this be the year you die
I only ask
So I can plan ahead
To be inconvenienced
I had a wet dream last night
I woke up with a little slobber on my face & pillow
I had a good girl’s dirty dream
I dreamt of deep kisses and attraction
Not the s-e-x (I’m a virgin you know)
But the satisfaction of wanting more,
that’s the xxx I want
Tonight I break my silence. This is my open letter to you.
You will always be remembered as a vapor
the heat-wet rising to fog the mirrors,
blurring distinction:
When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw you, too.
But that’s not true
I saw a mirage and what I wanted to see
Last I looked I saw nothing ajar, nothing amiss.
Sentimentality is lost on the broken-hearted.
You fog me no more.
A few years later
I’m ready to revisit
the statement I made
years earlier
People with January 2nd birthdays die and I do not fear for their deaths.
Truth is
people with January 2nd birthdays
lie.
the blank eye of the black dog has me in its crossways gaze
Winston Churchill referred to his recurring bouts with depression as his “black dog.”
I don’t think I’m depressed. But is that what the black dog wants me think?
I don’t think I’m depressed; I’m just boring.
We should all follow sage advice and here it is: A dear friend said via Facebook today that she was going to make 2012 her bitch. Friends, let’s do the same. Take whatever gripes you’ve got, give them a last look, and throw them out like weeds. They aint the bitch of you and they’ll just have to get on.
My last post of 2012, last outpost, ahead images: fuzzy and distant as the wind.
It’s much too dark for going
It’s much too early for a new start
The year is much too much new for this new year shit:
Why wasn’t the old year good enough to fuck up without needing a new one too?
Why weren’t you good enough to make last year’s point?
Another year goin’ to do to you what you did to it. Last post, fuzzy and distant as a bitch, much too much shit.
Your Sympathies: