The Bed Of Knives And Needles

I've made my bed of knives and needles

now I have to lay in it.

My blood runs cold onto the ground,

I look into the sky,

And tell god to go f**k himself.

I still breathe.

 

I found a skeleton in my closet,

The flesh has not completely decayed.

The destorted face of the skeleton is familiar...

My hands start shaking and my wrists start bleeding.

I shut the door of the closet.

Leaving the body unknowed.

 

I watch as stars start to fall,

"Wishes are for the hopeful," I say to myself.

Hope

 is like a star,

You reach for it but you can never have it. 

I've reached for the stars but I keep getting burned.

They say life is like a bowl of cherries

But I live in a bowl full of sour grapes.

 

The moon rears its ugly head

and darkness follows.

Nyctophobic fears replace my thoughts.

I turn around and the devil is staring back at me.

My lungs are filled with silence as I try to scream for help.

I hide in a corner trying not to make eye contact with the beast.

The sun appears

And I glance at the beast.

It was a mirror all along.

 

I walk down the road of solitude,

Not even my shadow will follow me.

The vultures of death watch my every move,

Waiting for me to fall so that they may pick me clean.

They follow me, their shadows taunting me with their presents.

I don't feel so alone now that the birds are following me.

I turn back to find both of them dead on the ground.

I killed two birds with no stones,

Funny how things work out.

 

 

I open the door of the closet and the skeleton is gone.

the night has returned to play with what is left of my sanity.

I look closer into the closet and I see a hole.

A skeleton hand reaches out and pulls me in.

The flesh of the skeleton grows and I see that

Its me.

My battle scars disappear

As I walk into the new world.

Without turning back

Where I belong..

 

I've made my bed out of knives and needles

 now I have to lay in it.

My blood runs cold onto the ground,

I look into the sky,

and say a prayer.

My hearts stops beating.

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Larry Dyson]

very moving piece of prose..love your use of metaphors ..but just a half a bubble off level...keeps us all readjusting our footing..especially liked this...
"The moon rears its ugly head

and darkness follows.

Nyctophobic fears replace my thoughts.

I turn around and the devil is staring back at me.

My lungs are filled with silence as I try to scream for help.

I hide in a corner trying not to make eye contact with the beast.

The sun appears

And I glance at the beast.

It was a mirror all along."

[OT]

dark indeed - intense - powerful - the pain in it - nice job!

[Kenneth The Poet]

Dark and twisted. I like it.

[Jeremy Baker]

Pain and suffering, the almost universal themes of poetry. You treat them well here. Good work!

[Bryan Micheni]

good write. well written but with a few typos. brilliant, sustaining a poem for that long

[DarkShines]

Very well done, this is certainly the kind of writing i like and would love to see more from you. I'll definitly have to go browsing through your other pieces more than i have. And in regards to the person who has also reviewed this, don't ever do that. Even though you were respectful about it, don't ever tell someone that you think they should have said something other than what they did just because you were offended by it. Writers aren't here to please, they're here to tell a story whether people like or not, so don't suggest someone censor themselves because of how you feel about their word choice or their message, because you can choose just to not listen.

[Kho-San]

Hmm, when I read the bit about god, I was quite annoyed, and I think this poem could do without that. I know you're free to write what you like, but it would be good to not insult people, and since I really like your writing, I don't want to have to not read things you write in case of such content.
Moving on, I really like how you shaped this poem, and bit by bit revealed things, the bit about the devil being him/herself in the first place was very shocking (and I think that shock is what you were trying to so here) the last stanza, with the prayer and all kind of contradicts the first one, but hey, this is poetry, you don't get penalized for contradiction, in fact, it's a sign of growth for the character in the poem.
Fantastic piece, sad, but with a tinge of horror to it, especially with the way the person calmly "allows" their heart to stop beating, as if it's their choice (and maybe it is)