Behind Shut ShuttersA Poem by MachinaWriterA poem...I close the shutters My mind trails to those two brothers Cane and Abel, where one killed the other I shake my head Trying to look anywhere- just not the bed I fall down in the chair- Think, think, think Further in the cushion I sink My stained fingers find a spark- To light the cigarette- in the dark What should I do? I don’t know! F**k, where would I go? I try to formulate -some sense of logic As my mind debates Illogically, pressing me For answers But I have none How can I? I stare at the gun My mind’s still on standby I still can’t believe it I’m frozen in this chair Like a f*****g paraplegic Thinking while I'm there, Maybe I should leave it? No, it won’t work They saw me coming in Someone will remember Place the face, the time, the date I’ve seen CSI, I know this case Maybe I could bury it? No body, no crime But how to carry it? S**t, I can’t even stare at it Much less pull it from the sheets Where it’s laying there, silently Amidst the blood, I so violently Shed, from the top of its head, in splattered art
upon the bed Even after they were surely dead But they definitely deserved it… I try to rationalize While still trying to decide Upon a method, where I could hide Not a body, -a mannequin If I have to move it, I can at least pretend Listen to you now… You killed them first in flesh But now even their humanity, The only thing that’s left You’ll kill that too, you’re such a fucked up
mess Stop. I need to think, my time is running low The shot was loud, the cops were called Hell, they probably already know Your name, your face Come tomorrow, you’ll be disgraced Any bit of good, you ever did or would Will be dismissed without a trace I shake And my body trembles Looking now, I’ve been tracing symbols With the blood, upon the window Just a few words, I knew would come Then with shaking hands, I pick up the gun And with one last drag, of my cigarette The barrel to my head I couldn’t have lived, anyways- with all this
regret The symbols spelled, upon the glass I know now, will be my last And with the gunblast, blood is splashed Across the window, -like something from a movie Next to the symbols: "That’ll teach him to screw me." © 2012 MachinaWriterAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
Stats
638 Views
12 Reviews Added on September 13, 2012 Last Updated on September 13, 2012 AuthorMachinaWriterSpringfield, ILAboutMy original passion has always been in writing stories. Most of them were fantasy stories, because I always wanted to escape. That's what it was. An escape from the troubles of life. Joining this site.. more..Writing
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|