Belligerent Demon

 
Those that the Gods destroy
They first make mad.

The words
Greek origin maybe
Matters not
What really matters
Are the
Twisted faces on bedroom walls
Or
Margaret gives good head
In the bus station's bathroom stall
Things matter
Life's memories (real ones / made-up ones)
String together like a charm bracelet
Although life isn't always charming
Some memories aren’t worth
The demons we have to dredge up
To remember
Come
Taste my sour grapes
As our voices ricochet into the darkness
Of
Silent hisses
I search empty drawers
Looking for yesterdays notes
I root around some more
Then stop
Hearing a voice, a voice so wintry chilling
A dominating voice
Facing me down in the darkness of forevermore
I swallow the gloom in my throat
Go back to the empty drawers
Trying to redirect my misplaced pride
Not having much luck
Hear the swell of slimy laughter
Feel the
Flutter of feral fear
Like a belligerent butterfly flapping around in my stomach
This, then is what I get
When my Muse is 80-proof
I wheel around to confront the laughing fool
And stare at myself in the mirror
C'est la vie

©January 5, 2016 / Jerry Pat Bolton