May 18th Poetry Challenge: Bite Me.

Mocking Bird Down

May 18th: Write a piece with the first word of each stanza beginning with a letter of the alphabet. 26 Lines.

woman-at-bar-painting-by-fabian-perez

Absorbed. Filled. Soaked in the smell of my morning coffee.
Body aching from the night shared with the awkward and equally
charismatic gentleman who made his way over to me only to
deliberately fumble. Stumble. Bumble. All to make me laugh.
Executed with perfection on his part. My reaction not quite what the
flirt wanted. My humour has a darkness to it that most find
ghoulish. Ghastly. Ungainly. Grizzly, even.
He gestured for me to join him for a dance. I don’t dance.
Imprudent of him, I thought. He appeared to read my mind and
joined me, sitting on the bar stool beside me, and smiled in a most
knavish manner. One I recognised and reciprocated with equal ill intention.
Lapping up every word I spoke, or at…

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Envy Not

Mocking Bird Down

kiss of death poblenou barcelona 1

Do not be so quick to envy
my sharp tongue and my
fearless hands.
Destroying the smile
of another with intent,
is my own crippling band;
that chokes me. Bruises me.
Not because of guilt, and not because of
shame. But because it leaves me
bitter and abandoned in the
hollows of my veins.
Destruction is a opiate, for
the anger that resides.
The gnarly twisted cruelty
that hides behind green eyes.
I am no advocate for the weak.
Nor am I inspired by the meek,
But I am;
by definition –
the kiss on your demon’s cheek.

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Chasing Demons

Mocking Bird Down

tombstone

It is more convoluted, than just
a throbbing demand for blood.
It is more labyrinthine than simply
knowing that I will stand, bloody faced
and victorious, heart pounding against
my rib cage. A reminder that the trophy blood
that drips from my hands, is not mine.
It belongs to one of the demons that has tracked me
for too many years, lurking. In that few seconds before
day becomes night, waiting relentlessly to swallow
whole the rare moments when I am able to
fall asleep with out first having to run my fingers
along the blades hidden beneath my bed,
just to comfort my mind before close my eyes.
The corpse, black and burnt, will not stand again.
But there are more where this one came from.
Its more complicated than positive talk and
encouragement. Its more complicated than
a patronizing pat on the back, telling me that
everything will…

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Let Go.

Mocking Bird Down

Bloody_Face_of_Bagul
Remembering you, is like placing my lips
on a heavy bottomed whiskey glass, filled
with tiny sharp shards of a broken mirror
and tilting it into my mouth. Slicing my tongue,
the same tongue that licked the blood from your lips
when you fell into my glass desk.
Tearing at my throat, with a familiar burn,
that comes only from crying so hard that the
salted grief becomes more acidic with
each clear recollection of
just how
fucked up
you
are.
The mirror catches the light, like you did,
but it makes me keel over; internal bleeding
and a searing pain, also familiar. Your calling card.
You found me when I was just a young girl,
and you added an unforgettable misery
to my world.
Your creation was my slow deterioration.
Your masterpiece was the physical
damage that would grab at me with it’s clammy hands
still, fifteen years later.

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No. 77

Mocking Bird Down

354424636-leather-sofa-suicidal-person-overdose-overthrowing-knocking-over

Pick me up in stages,
let my knuckles drag,
and my head drop and loll,
mouth open, struggling to breathe.
Let my eyes roll back,
and wait for my pulse to become
so feint..
that the fingers pressed
to my neck would have to be so still
just to feel any signs of life.
Hide and seek with timing,
and the only evidence lies
in how fast the blood dries up
and clots.
And then ask me.
Do you want to live?

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