The Clock Face, And Mine, The Same by Killerion, literature
Literature
The Clock Face, And Mine, The Same
Notes, at my desk, to remind me,
of the things that I need to do
A heart is beating inside me,
with the loves I thought I once knew
With each tick-tock, I am locking,
As I stare at clock upon wall
My heart pounds sounds of knocking,
But I need not answer it's call
Be gone, for I knew you not
I must insist that you go
The fall, and it all, for what?
I do not wish to know
These phantom fists, how they do persist
And Oh, how they so make me cringe
So relentless, but I still resist,
Till they bust this heart from it's hinge.
Time Marches on, in it's tick-tock form,
As I stare at clock upon wall
It' hands might be cold, not welcoming warm
Its
Notes from you contained
In labeled plastic bins.
Stacked neatly
atop artifacts
I conveniently neglect.
Disordered museum,
Attempted control.
While all else crumbles,
disintegrates
and molds,
traces of you
I've encased from yesterday.
Much has been sealed
behind padlocked doors.
Bode farewell, my innocence;
These words I enforced,
When I made you my Always
and never hard to find.
Stumbling around, in a slumbering spell, in the forest of a dream, I found a well. Some Hell I was fearing, as I stood there staring, down into the darkest, and dankest of daring. Within its shaping, a mouth was gaping, and laughing, laughing, at each moment's passing. I weakened in waiting, yet strength was prevailing, and down into the well, I questioned this spell.
I float south, through this door, this mouth. Would it swallow me whole? Could it swallow my soul?
Softly landing, in a classroom, I'm standing. I see a sin-filled little man, as he begins his evil plan. He's spitting angry fire, teaching to conspire - against all that is go
Is my love a wing-ed thing;
A midnight bat, with bumble-sting;
A mesh, a mash, of all that is;
A cold black heart,
a demon's kiss?-
A death of life that tempts and taunts;
I'm filled with desirous,
waking wants.
I held, I hailed it, as nubile new,
but, at length, I have failed it,
by all that is true
Love, eternal, was what I had sought.
Was I foolish, to think this way?
Love, undying, was my shining thought.
It darkens the truth of today.
Hope is the bitterest tasting lie,
mixing in, with the salt, of the skin.
A kiss, a caress, and one more try,
in the shadows, of love, I begin.
The flower is admired for its beauty,
Except when not seen as a flower.
Fragile at their feet, at their mercy,
Looked down upon, or never seen,
Only I'm aware they're stepping on
The soil, the life, the hopes and dreams,
From which the beauty has grown.
Blocked from the nurturing sun,
the weight of the presence, I felt.
The flower leans away,
beneath shadows of heavy doubt.
Life and death are non-existent,
Under a fluorescent warmth.
The sun was meaningless memories,
mere words, without weight,
Lifted by the wind, into the sky,
Words of praise, of "make believe",
Made believed by having dreamed.
The flower falls and fades,
into composition,
That word "FEAR" is scary, all on its own,
with all its phobic connotations,
I fear the future, with my chronophobia,
I even fear the fear with my phobophobia.
But if you split it up, strip it down to the bare letters,
F. E. A. R.
it tells you a secret about itself,
It is acronymous
But it doesn't want you to know
What it stands for.
I'm here to tell you what it is,
The secret acronymity of that hated word.
Its full name shows it, for what it really is,
With all its bravado and threats about
What it will do to you.
If you don't stop whatever you're doing.
That's what stopped me,
FEAR, of failure, of not being able to, of
Please take away, this goblet of darkness and lies,
For I don't want to taste its poison,
Have it hate me, hit me, hurt me,
Nail me to the cross I bear,
Constantly crucifying me, in the hope
That I admit defeat.
Please Take away this blanket of sadness,
And bar its imminent return.
Please make my life fun again, make me smile,
As though life won't bring tears and pain.
Please let light into my heart
And banish darkness from it.
Please make The Quacks see,
That it's because of their
Misunderstanding of my mind,
That I am, the way I am.
Please make me want tomorrow,
And not dread it, as I dreaded today,
When I considered its arrival,
Only yest
Why is every thought considered an
Obscenity, that shouldn't even be allowed Inside
The Darkness That is Me.
Why is every Wish or Desire
Withheld or Kept out of Reach
Why is every Word Contradicted,
Before I even Utter it.
Why Me , and Not Him or Her,
Not that They are Guilty
Maybe that's Why it's Me,
Maybe that's the Reason that I Feel this Way,
Divine Retribution, Poetic Justice,
For Deeds and Thoughts of the Past,
As They Catch Up on Me, and Overtake
My Very Existence,
Always Outpacing me to
Lay the Rocky Road Ahead.
Why Does the Kangaroo Court of Life,
My very own Judge, Jury and Executioner,
Condemn me, Without Trial,
Or Hearing My Hea