spittlerattle

stuff i write

Tag: Bitter

What makes us tick?

for K.

No one ever warns you about…
Persuasion!
About the damage it can do
To the bravest,
Gravest heart.

And no one ever tells you about the confrontations;
Or about how lying can be the subtlest of arts –
(More a craft:
A witching stick
To give us the razorest of edges
As a head start
In our race towards death).

It’ll make you sick.

And no one ever mentions about the hatred,
About the damage it can do to the schizoid and paranoid heart.
And I can’t remember how long I’ve waited
But it’s starting to pick my nerves apart;
Spitting on my spark;
I’m still missing every trick,
Hedging my bets,
Checking my charts,
And testing the tick.

Time Out

After a flurry of recent rejections I’m revenging myself on the universe by depriving it of me. My awesomeness has been subtracted from the total mass of awe available to keep the cosmos in harmony. The homeostatic balance tipped slightly towards the mundane as I opted out; a smidgen, perhaps, but statistically significant.

Psych sketch #11

She’s got blood on her breath and the rain brings her spiders in.  All her swallows have broken hearts from sin.

Cosmetic surgery

My baby,
So she could love me properly,
Sacrificed part of herself with a frontal lobotomy;
She took to ironing, and pining, for the love of me.

She had a vision, like a catechism,
Of a bloody baby at the bottom of some steps;
“Sick bitch”, I said, and tapping the metal plate in her head
To correct her, redirect her,
I crank her step-up generator with a kiss;
Adjusting her ampage to something more positive
Has been known to enable her logic.
The circuits may be caustic (or even toxic)
But fuck it because it’s worth it –
In the end it might (p)urge her to a cure.

I wished I coulda done more to help her
But I was all out of whatever oil might mend her.
This synaptic dysfunction,
Her spiritual corruption,
Means that, for her, exorcism
Or some huge existential schism
Might ease the compulsion,
And save her from temptation.

Amen.