We seek the darkness
thunderstorm funerals
muddy American flags
and trains off their tracks
I loved the picture of you out in the water
the wind made your hair wild
Nothing lasts…
I caught a blue glass-eyed wink
and a toothless grin
through the slow rising twirl of cigarette smoke and green flesh
I could smell the decay on your brain
It was a rainy day
when they put you in the ground.
Everything is open wounds now
and a bland thanksgiving dinner sucked through a straw
We forgot somehow, how to laugh
Could have been the slow drip of morphine
or the simple way our bones cracked.
Death dragged his heavy feet
as real life licked me
like a sandpaper tongue
Reminded me I am just the nameless meat
between the lion’s teeth
and we all die alone.
In black in white she sat
her legs demurely crossed
with her crooked cat eyed glasses
Tell me about your chaos lady,
the bloody slashes across your face
your dead baby sister
at the bottom of the outhouse.
It’s no wonder
in the end we all go mad.
Would it be ok if I took this gloom
and weaved it into some hideous mask?
I will hide behind it for the rest of my days.
H.M. Nolan 2015
depression
a message
one day you will arrive to hurt me
~ again ~
and
come to discover you can’t
because
i am already dead.
smoke screens
random thoughts…
.
will I ever be held in love’s embrace
or
continue to be smothered
by
the arms of loneliness?
.
.
.
Suffer.
She will,
only become,
aware of,
the severity,
in the things,
that she,
has insistently,
gone and done,
when she admits,
to the obvious shifts,
in the gazes of,
the Almighty Ones;
she will,
finally be outdone,
deep inside of,
the smoking barrel,
of a black market gun,
will she submit,
to the things,
that she’s let,
grow into beasts?
Or will,
the darkness,
finally,
swallow her,
in totality,
just to make,
itself regurgitate,
her existence,
repeatedly;
the day will come,
undoubtedly,
a day that makes,
today seem sweet,
like times of joy,
full of ease,
gobble them,
swallow them,
get down,
on your knees,
a day will come,
that defines suffering.
this is ~
‘
this is my heart ~ feeling
what
my mind is ~ shouting ~
‘
eyes drowning in tears
as
my veins spill blood into the night.
‘
I cry out upon deaf ears ~
will my slumber ever sing…
dreams of beauty
or
will it be consumed…
by this shameful darkness
and
dread?
‘
‘
a question of when –
Missed Me.
I’ve been walking on wire
high above a horrific crime scene,
looking down at the sheer
size of such a bloody tragedy
the yellow tape is stretching
for miles across the trees
and the vultures circle
widely around
the tight rope
I’ve been walking.
I look down, muted sounds
while little dots of people
mull their ways around
most of them don’t care
that I’m watching
from the air,
but a few, I see
have taken notice of me
magnified by a cross-hair.
They will try to kill me,
they’ve tried so many times
to shoot me down
from the heights I’ve found,
but they can’t seem
to tap that bead.
And so on I look
bullets flying right at me
I do not falter,
just too desperate to see
the object of this circus show,
the victim of this scene…
tell me.
Is it my baby that you
have down there
amongst such a
massive tragedy?
All I want answered
is this simple query
put down the rifles
and answer me.
They know what I’m after
and they know just as sure
that I won’t be going
a damned place without her.
But, I’ve got a shocker
Folded into my sleeve
and it’s something that
none of these cowards are
expecting from me.
This is what happens,
with all of this time
they’ve given to me,
my mind has mapped
its very own crime scene,
and mine’s filled with bodies
of them, not her and me.
Surprise!
from my high place
above the green trees,
and once it’s all done
I’ll climb down finally
Desperately searching
for my only baby…
I know that she’s here
I can hear her calling to me.
But I never could find her
amongst so many
other dead bodies,
she screams to me
Mommy!
The haunt of my dreams.
Sledgehammered.
Like a bus
that couldn’t stop,
its driver, legs locked-
straight, baring down-
all the weight,
the failing of brakes;
beneath his feet,
where the tires
touch street
screeching, scraping
metal shavings
but can’t quite stop
in time not to
run right over me.
The Sledgehammer swings,
it’s wielder, well-meaning-
momentous force-
impact to the chest
sets into course,
broken by the best
of darkness creeping
in through
my own big mouth.
I am tired.
salvos of thought
play war inside
a tired mind…
a tired mind
which manages to thrive…
a tired mind
I wish I could erase…….