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Making the Poem Cry...

I can't see it coming down my eyes so I gotta make lacrimals well up within the pointed ball of my pen.Refusing saltine filled secretions climb down cheeks I feel the disease of triste

Have drips from self inflicted puncture wounds blend with the margins in my sheets.

Refusing to leak physically but literally infusing the aching drops into scraps of recycled murdered trees

A lump in my esophagus transposed through phalanges as my pacemaker ticks the sounds of echoing defeat

Love connotations hath no glory upon which dismay leaves its imprint

Becoming a being other than thyself

Wolven form howling at the night as to release what I refuse to portray...sin filling the greens of my soul's windows followed by a bluish gray...as color leaves my self portrait reflected in the mirror.

I refuse to let it come down my eyes so I thrust and slash into electronic notes like a madwoman who's lost her mental nodes

Running from the acceptance of loss. Shattering bravado, shards of the statue, lay in the dark

Allowing walls to critique...consuming me...the darkness chose me...as forever displays itself upon the disappearing stars gas filled earth disappears into an unclaimed universe

Your letting go hurts...bitter-sweetness of retaliation dressed in Sheep's clothing

I remain clothed as the emperor was...bare of anything other than

I can't see it coming down my eyes but I decided to make this scripture screech...ink spilling its excess...as the poem cries for me.

Conveniently in denial of emotional distress stabbing drops upon verbatim as this noun get rejected into periods. Ellipses replacing representations of what is forcing a grimace of physical reality...quoting sad songs to express my truth

As I can't see it coming down my eyes will I remain Lyrically suffering for you...

©DISorientedDIVA 2013

Dear God,

Making you....Immortal

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