Lift my head from soft evil;
a black chest I know
to well,
arms that swing sharp blades around my throat.
We meet where day begins,
after black out thick ends…
smoke smothers from my pores –
I remember the Cosmos,
shooting up the stars,
crawling out of his damp position
and lift,
lift,
lifting off.
For every one I have killed, I have killed the heart of two,
and taken the hand
of the most Sinister Man – his Red Blood has turned mine Blue;
and, no, I did not whisper under breath, or breath into his ear,
I simply looked through
a man, maybe two, who’s soul had smothered in fear.
I am satisfied! I am satisfied, as I swim throughout their ashes.
I feel their bones,
their dangerous undertones, then my Blue blood flickers and flashes.
Now, I know I am Queen of Sinister things;
this life, and, thereafter!
The sun lays September to rest,
my single tree quivers
against black canvas, frost steals my breath
and this night makes it hard to be a river.
My moon cannot gaze quick
enough in any direction, I stumble
over boulders, though these dormant feet stick,
one-side of heavy rubble.
Gentle, I offer, white whispers,
(and knuckles), as I lay my head to rest,
because, as he often does, the reaper
shreds nightly peace, to build a home in my chest!
wicked strikes
on
language
reaching
over seas
across
time difference
plaguing
mental disease
on
populations, tribes,
nationalities
breathe in polluted
words
breathe out
anxious
injurious
leftovers
bipolar whispers
grumbling fault finders
sniveling rascals
serial hope killers
poisoning
airways
stench upon
putrid vocabulary stench
virtually
grasping hands around
necks
and squeezing spirits
away.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 