Prescribed

Shaking hands and
earthquake eyes
they close and slip
as pills collide
The blue ones
the blue ones
The white and
the red
These will make you better
all better, they said

They hand me
prescriptions
for whatever I ask
It’s been four weeks
and four weeks
When did we see you last?

Written by cold hands
and eyes that pass through
they hand you their scribbles
just to get rid of you
You’re a number
and you number
count the whites and
the reds
But the doses move slowly
when it’s all in your head

The white shirts
prescribed you
looking up not at all
but when they come ringing
you will answer
their call

So you can’t sleep?
No I can’t sleep
We’ve got something for that
Take one every day
and be sure to
come back

You return under harsh lights
and it’s always the same
checking over your file
to remember your name
So you take pills
then you take pills
’til you’ve filled
every gap
These are great pills
Increase the mills

When did we see you last?

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Artistic liberty, or something like that (6 poems)

I

You don’t know what you’re feeling,
not most of the time
unless you loosen the hinges,
start drowning in wine
As you plead and you gasp,
try to shut it back in,
as you bargain for air and your lungs are
screaming

That’s when he’ll find you
and he’ll offer his hand
You’ll thank your kind saviour
as you head to dry land

Coerced, young, and foolish,
you believe what you’re told
As he tightens his grip you think
you’re the one in control
But tell me my child,
can you remember your name?
At some point you’ve forgotten
Now you’re part of his game

The setting grows colder
It’s fading to black
And now you’re still drowning
with fresh marks in your back

II

You came here because
you wanted to feel something
More than you wanted love
you wanted to know
that you were capable of it
And you are…
or you were
But now it’s just another
emotional notch in your bedpost
Another hole in your belt
As you grow fatter with
experience you grow
less and less satisfied

Your waistline shrinks
and your cheek bones emerge
and you know the more you feel
the more you need to feel

You’re a sensational bulimic

Couches and dead flowers
and arguments and cleaning
the bathroom
This is your life now
You’re a modern day housewife
parading around in cloaked
dissatisfaction,
coining a front of charisma
so convincing,
for a second even you
thought it could be real
Your senses are numb
but for the scent of bleach
and boredom

As you rest your head
on his chest
his heartbeat reminds you
of your own mortality
You are ageing and
you’re dying
and the longer you wait
the faster it eats away

At least in the cold
you were preserved
on ice
You kept your heart
on the rocks for two decades
and now exposed it quivers
and threatens to crack

Yet you’re sure you can live
without it

So you seek solace in the flesh
of others
digging your nails in and
feeding off their emotions
and reactions
You draw blood as quickly
as you draw a crowd
You timed this,
you planned this
like clockwork
And you pretend you’re unsure
but immorality has always
had a special place in your bones

You’re a psychological vampire

And as you emerge
with fresh claw marks
down your back
you know neither is this “it”
There has to be something more
you can feel

There has to be something more
I can feel 

III

Your eyes
unlike oceans
show the shallow depths
of swamps
and in their muddy waters
I see not blues but browns

There are teeth
that let go at no cost
There are claws
that tear
until you are raw

Reptilian,
you take and abhor
until you need another
and swim back into shore

IV

You’re like a full bladder
an empty bottle of wine
everything you say doesn’t matter
and you take up too much of my time

You talk and you push
and I wish you’d just leave
I’ll drink ’til you drown
and I’ll plan to deceive

You’ll wake up tomorrow
to clean up my mess
and that’s why I keep you:
my tired conscience 

V

If it isn’t catastrophic
If it isn’t cataclysmic
then I don’t want anything to do with it

If it doesn’t clutch at my throat
and splinter my bones
then I don’t want anything to do with it

I don’t want half-ways
or “some day”s
I don’t want forever
or always
I don’t want anything to do with it

If it doesn’t inspire
and it isn’t this instant
then I don’t want anything to do with it

If it doesn’t gratify my wants
and set fire to my needs
then I don’t want anything to do with it

I don’t want 9-5’s
and staying barely alive
I don’t want insurance or security
I don’t want routine or mundanity

I don’t want truth
or sincerity
I don’t want confession
or honesty

I want worn flesh
and chapped lips
I want high winds,
an apocalypse

I want bruised thighs
and shattered lights
I want believed lies
and ruined lives

I want matted hair
and nails across skin
I want Christ cast out
and the Devil in

I don’t want hesitation,
or useless contemplation
I want here and now
instant gratification

I don’t want soft
I don’t want gentle
I want to come apart
watch as you dismantle

I don’t want conscience
I don’t want conviction
I want reveled sin
soaked in inhibition

I don’t want subtlety 
I can’t stand euphemism
I just want you and me
lost in hedonism

VI

Looking up from the cracks
I see the dirt on your shoes
and it won’t break your back
to step over my view

The heat seeps from beneath,
The flames cased in cement
As to whether you’ll join me,
we are all in suspense

I clutch at the sediment
until my fingers turn black
I did not mean to leave you
I just fell through the cracks

Yes, the company’s fair
and the wine never stops
There are thousands down here
That Time and God forgot

But it’s lonely, you know
here at Lucifer’s side
That’s why if you look low
You might still see my eyes

Glinting up from their prison
looking up from the flames
I thought I was special
Down here we’re all the same

The next time you’re walking
take a peek down below
For the cracks that you trod on
might be someone you know

A few more poems

I’m like a depressing Doctor Seuss.

Crack

An image of
a helping hand,
admired and revered
Upon which you are all
dependant,
diluted and adhered

It holds you up
and weakens you
Your strength, unneeded, lacks
So when the hand closes
its fist
I’ll hear as your bones crack

Man Over God

“Praise Jesus”
they say
“Thank God”
they all gasp
but the man
who loses self
to God
is the man
who will come
last

Take action,
I plead
Go forward,
I urge
For the man
who’s ruled
by none but self
is the man
who will
come first

Life

It grabs ahold of your neck
and digs its thumb into
your throat
It pulls the colour from your hair
and your eyes begin
to float
Your chest caves in,
cavernous
and canyons bed beneath
your eyes
And you try to breathe
and try to scream
but your airways
are all tied

Some call it stress,
anxiety, depression,
grief, or strife
But the term that I am partial to,
I think I’ll call it
“Life”

Fever

We wait until the fever breaks
I keep quiet for both our sakes
Your face is swollen
It’s hard to take
Choke back tears
It’s hard to fake
Propofol, Midazolam
I’m holding on the best I can
Fentanyl, Ciprofloxacin
These are just names, just medicine

But they keep you here
so I’ll stay with you
Until you wake,
I wish I could sleep too