© Jan. 5, 2017. All Rights Reserved.
Curse her imperturbability,
For I’m in her presence.
I’m her ability. I’m her reality.
I’m her common sense.
I’m hers from a distorted Devil Lily.
I can keep secrets and protect,
And I awake to sleepless dreams,
Feeling real nightmare subjects. Perfect.
I impinge on her eyes as light, it seems.
I’m conscious. I’m perfectly correct.
Creeping in her shadow,
Sleeping on her snow angel,
I can see the moon glow.
If I tell her I’m single,
Will that be all she needs to know?
I creep on my heart,
But a thought it was.
I don’t know where to start.
I start because…
No words, so I restart to depart.
It’s like a mental onslaught,
But a hot-blooded she has to notice me.
I don’t want to get caught.
I can’t fight my personality.
It’s a battle hard fought.
Echoes in the rain rise
And silent stares turn confidential.
As bullet ants bathe in the grace of cries,
They cringe from love. Remarkable.
I’m susceptible. I can sympathize.
After I amble in the desert,
Our greetings intertwine.
The moon stays. Glowing turns to dirt.
My hug is like a reata with a kiss of wine.
Our secrets exchange. We’re unhurt.
The rumors are flesh wounds to the naive.
My empowerment makes me love myself.
It’s a lifetime of what I won’t believe.
I took the gun off of the shelf.
I’m no one special to deceive.
Like the devil’s irreverence,
I partake in her indelible heart.
She’s rich. Her glory is self-defense.
If she’s homeless after death, I depart.
Her home is with me. It’s another start.
She tangles her limbs around my joints,
As I descend to the mattress,
Where a glass shard protrudes. It points,
Extending through the sheets. It’s a mess.
It pinpoints my haunches and disappoints.
Blood gushes out. A shout greets a shout.
A hawker looks from an opened window,
Holding a black umbrella. I move about,
Eyeing a nosy bugaboo.
She screams and there’s a blackout.
I panic. It’s late with bipolar weather.
The bedroom door closes by itself.
In the air, the hawker throws a newsletter.
I search. My gun’s on the kitchen shelf,
Coughing up all bullets until better
The blinds shut, but the windows shatter.
I tremble until I hyperventilate.
An earthquake as wide as blood splatter,
Finds a way to meditate.
A vent forces gun powder to scatter.
My girlfriend speaks in Spanish,
When she could only speak English. Odd.
I don’t want to die, but I want to vanish.
She’s flawed. I demand a magical fraud.
I demand, but I don’t receive a wish.
She’s dragged in a standing position.
From her scalp, hair strands rip.
She bleeds like a nightmare’s superstition.
She runs. She trips. The knob hits her hip.
The knob falls off with a new ambition.
The knob falls through the floor.
The door stays. Flickers the closet light.
I exit half-way out the window, sore,
Getting sicker. It’s only night.
The window slams. … A window whore.
Isaiah Lawrence 