deepundergroundpoetry.com
Childhood Abstract
Circling birds that circle the rats entangled in their blood and urine,
Tethered by the tails that curl into their bones like a second spine.
They sharpen their claws on dull ground to tint the dirt red,
The hideous creature writhes in golden agony and screams at a pitch that cannot be seen.
Pardon the smell that cannot be removed from these walls,
Painting over peeling wallpaper clawed by bleeding nails that hold the walls together.
The bugs have come to claim the house,
Nestling their nests and brood in the shoes by the door.
Deservedly suffering in a cold cell circled by lions,
The promise of meat can excuse the smell and appearance.
Their ribs clash against themselves as their joints slip out of place,
The wretched man licks his lips and the air is metallic with the blood and the ground is golden.
There is a front door without a key that opens only from the inside,
The windows look out to look inside the ones who long to be outside.
The plants have come to claim the house,
Battling the vines with bottled madness that groans in the living room.
Tiny hands that grasp the key and watch for the birds,
Their tails tethered and bodies sticky with blood and urine.
Speaking with the bugs nestled in the shoes and picking at the wallpaper,
Suffering in a cold cell and picking the petals off a flower.
Painting the ground golden with the reflection of their halos,
Writhing in golden agony.
Running a hand through the foggy windows,
I can see myself and see who I am.
&$^%# stop that! You’re gonna leave handprints!
Sorry Mother.
Tethered by the tails that curl into their bones like a second spine.
They sharpen their claws on dull ground to tint the dirt red,
The hideous creature writhes in golden agony and screams at a pitch that cannot be seen.
Pardon the smell that cannot be removed from these walls,
Painting over peeling wallpaper clawed by bleeding nails that hold the walls together.
The bugs have come to claim the house,
Nestling their nests and brood in the shoes by the door.
Deservedly suffering in a cold cell circled by lions,
The promise of meat can excuse the smell and appearance.
Their ribs clash against themselves as their joints slip out of place,
The wretched man licks his lips and the air is metallic with the blood and the ground is golden.
There is a front door without a key that opens only from the inside,
The windows look out to look inside the ones who long to be outside.
The plants have come to claim the house,
Battling the vines with bottled madness that groans in the living room.
Tiny hands that grasp the key and watch for the birds,
Their tails tethered and bodies sticky with blood and urine.
Speaking with the bugs nestled in the shoes and picking at the wallpaper,
Suffering in a cold cell and picking the petals off a flower.
Painting the ground golden with the reflection of their halos,
Writhing in golden agony.
Running a hand through the foggy windows,
I can see myself and see who I am.
&$^%# stop that! You’re gonna leave handprints!
Sorry Mother.
Published 10th Jul 2024
Author's Note
I was golden, they wanted me red. I’m not red. I don’t want to be red. Is that a devil child, or just a bloodied one? There are dents in my walls, I left each one. Some as my body was thrown and some as I threw my fists at them. They called me a ‘wild card’, but I drew an ace of spades.
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10th Jul 2024 8:53am
Hello
This was an intriguing experience. While reading it felt like a theatrical performance maybe one of past and present where future is yet uncertain. Or perhaps future are the threads of the puppeteers something like that. Your style is surely notable and noticed. I will surely read more from you, be well
Rianne
This was an intriguing experience. While reading it felt like a theatrical performance maybe one of past and present where future is yet uncertain. Or perhaps future are the threads of the puppeteers something like that. Your style is surely notable and noticed. I will surely read more from you, be well
Rianne
10th Jul 2024 10:16am
