Tag archives: blood

Ritual Sacrifice

“How to get your wife back with ritual sacrifice.”

They say you shouldn’t sacrifice people
but she doesn’t want diamonds
she doesn’t want kittens or kids

 

and waffles didn’t bring her eyes
back to mine with sweetness
but I am willing to appease this goddess

 

Through ropes and blades I carve my love
one hole in a fair maidens chest
one little heart for two

 

so, I gashed a grin with sin
-one swift grope to the chest
and felt her smile rise

 

Now, a dozen kisses met again
from a time buried long ago
and our blood felt hot and bold

 

like summer in our skin, all bounds unbound
praise to my goddess, boundless be.

BONUS CREEPIER VERSION:

 

With a series of storms,
her eyes push me farther out to sea
but my heart drums on

 

Swarming in a dozen thorns
she thickens a cloud around
but I still feel the smile she tried to bury
a long time ago

 

To save her heart from sinking slow,
I paint the ground a pity red
dredging my marriage with a fleshy angel
giving a piece of heaven to my goddess

 

we’re taking back the art once lost
true

 

some sacrifice for seasoning rain
some, sacrifice for bringing pain
but, I give the life for the wife I held

 

We are the ship wreck that set sail
and we feel the frothy sea pushing,
heating the hell-heaven in our wind.

 

Brown Boredom

“i think a poem about the loss of imagination/curiosity as people become ‘grown up’ would be interesting”

The echo of brown boredom
calls us to crouch and sleep.
Drift like it doesn’t matter
-like the walls are untouchable.

 

Life is limited to time spent relaxed
every heartbeat is aimed for blood
to pump, pump, pump for regurgitating reason.

 

Days long ago were made for galloping-
exploring the scrambled for fun.
Tasting has dissolved into eating
and the rubber of our soles wear thinner.

 

It is necessary to nurture the wild.
Trap the stars in our eyes.
Cage the craving curiosity.
Weave nets to snag rafts.
We perch on waves of melancholy;
watching our footprints wash away.

Fish and Poems

“A meta-poem.”

The journey of a fish
water, blood, butter.
Such is a poem’s life
which emerges wet
but often flops.
It bleeds out of scale.
Cut with curious knives.
Seasoned with salty spices
diced, marinated, marooned
on a white plate alone.

Ugly Bravery

“Write a poem about being courageous/heroic and giving your all in the face of certain death.”

Heart blasting
like a furnace too full.
My blood is red fuel,
that will ignite or chill
-but I will make it burn.

 

Fiery pain in me, around me.
I do this for my loving wife,
and spur my trigger finger
to spit fire and pain.

 

There is no place farther than home,
when you die.
I taste my own hot blood.
I remember my home.

 

Now, jackals crowd me,
and they die faster.
Staccato splatterings.

 

Their jagged justice
that shreds the weak
will not take the heat from my blood
as long as I have one drop
to spit in their cowardly faces.

 

Not enough.
They do not have enough,
to take me down to dirt,
where they took the others.

 

My wounds are now my enemy,
but my fear has been replaced
by my smeared flesh.

 

But I shall fight again,
so I may raise my eyes
to those who survived
to those who are safe.