Afflicted

i curse whatever poison causes this,
i scorn the ceiling as if the finger shouldn’t point at me—
because its easier to deal with that direction
since that culprit has no resurrection.

they’ve gone to haunted ground,
black and pure as the devil,
warranting a revolution from what started as sane
and nothing but blue comes from this game.

and once again I am the victim,
i am the one who throws a tantrum and cries ‘boo hoo’—
the one who has nothing but a story
for an excuse that will never hold glory.

i’ll tell myself I’m the one dealing with the absence of love,
the loss of a ‘good thing’ that never gets better,
the one who knows how the sound of death vibrates
so why wouldn’t I retreat and castrate?

damn you for digging the hole,
for meeting me at all—
i could still be the child I once was,
living with love in my heart
where you and I never start.

poor, poor me who witnessed it all,
but never quite ‘got over’ that call—
because after a simple savor of that blend,
my tongue sweats for the search to end.

i ravish the idea of pinching the dream,
or reveling in the cause granting me steel—
but either way my brain keeps the fog close
and my heart’s desires merely continue to pose.