Overkill #9 - Even more poetry, anonymous

A Reminder to Myself

In my sleep, I have burnt down houses with a cigarette.

I have driven my car into a river in the dead of night.

I have coughed down drinks to help me forget

One accident while causing another. Two wrongs are not a right.

I would cut off my nose to spite my face,

I would cut off my feet to lose a race.

I have drawn my own blood in the name of art

Just to see the picture it would make. I tore it apart.

But I would never tear out my eyes.

They serve as a reminder of everything I lack.

They remind me that I am not human inside.

Playing Pretend

You are a child dressed in your father’s ties.

You are a child in your mother’s make-up.

Quit telling yourself lies.

Put down the cup.

None of this ever made you brave or strong.

None of this ever made you beautiful.

You were always so wrong.

Stop pushing, and pull.

Give something to yourself. Quit playing

As though you were born as a victim.

You know where you’ve been laying

And where you should’ve been.

Gather up your guts, if you have any enduring.

Climb over the hurdles and walls you built

From the accidents you found reassuring.

Don’t trip over your guilt.

I would punch you square in the mouth, you fuck,

But I do not want to risk seven years of bad luck.

Tower of Babbel

I will keep speaking Arabic, and you keep staring at me with those dumb eyes.

I do not understand a word of your advice; it can never be properly applied.

Talking to you is something like teaching calculus to a second grader

Because he will try his best, but he cannot do long division without getting a remainder.

I am good at math,

But I struggle at arts and crafts.

Everything get shifted or skewed to the left before the glue has dried.

I see that you mean to be sincere, but I cannot fathom your advice.

It is for people that think there is such a thing as love and an afterlife.

I am lost for words that make sense beyond a tombstone epitaph.

Everything you utter is foreign, even your laugh.

My throat is so dry

For water or a tequila sunrise.

I really cannot tell the differences anymore, like the one between death and life.

It is all so redundant and all of the metaphors are empty.

All of the comparisons are painfully obvious and adolescent.

Each subtle play on words is lost on carelessness. You cannot see.

I am waiting until summer. I need something iridescent.

Crime and Punishment

You cannot pretend you’re unobtainable or fake confidence.

You cannot fix all of the imperfections of your face and body.

You cannot say intelligent things about interesting topics,

But you can get on your back or your hands and knees.

You eyes look so vacant now, but nobody sees the fade.

The glint dissipated gradually until you were not even human.

Yes, you are still sad when you look in the mirror at the mess you’ve made,

But it is only because you know logically that it is a sin.

You ironically do not even believe in god’s existence,

And you resent the church, but you use all their terms.

You label your wrongdoings with jargon to create a distance

Between yourself and everything that hurts you. You never learn.

So keep crawling from bed to bed, and wake up in the morning

Feeling even more empty and alone than you used to be

Before all the drunken, weekend whoring.

The worst part is deserving it, as far as you can see.

What did you do to earn anyone to keep you warm?

What did you ever do to earn anyone meaning a word like love?

You know everything you have done has torn

Other people apart. You are too wretched for words, when push comes to shove.

Please, just stop talking and stop writing.

For everyone’s sake,

Just go out in an instant, like a strike of lightening

Or sleep but do not wake.

Cyborg or Almost One

He tasted like poison and tequila and broken glass,

And I would never apologize enough.

I wish that I could fall in love,

And I bet you are glad you did not. Or it did not last.

I never meant all of the mistakes that make up my skeleton

Or the torn wires and rusted machines

That made up my organs and kept me lean.

The only thing I wanted to eat was a heart, so I could feel one.

But I will never hold one, pulsing in my hand and still alive

Or even from the grave, cold and hard.

That is too much like myself, and the living are on guard.

I would just bury myself, but it would be redundant if I died.

So spit your cold words, and pull the warm ones inside yourself.

Keep them thriving inside your guts

Because everything I am will never be enough

To be a true mother, lover, friend, or sister. I am nothing else

But a robot full of nuts and bolts,

But mostly nuts.