Monday, 4 April 2011

The way I lived.

I care and I don’t,
And I want not to be here,
Chasing my pipe dreams,

They are transient.

I want not to be
The braying that I hear
In my left ear
I want not to be
This creature.

Creature so much, and so little
I am predictable and reactive
A drunken isotope, an experiment for disaster that is
Sometimes coloured
With self regarding grief.

She doesn’t eat as it is.
You wouldn’t care if I got smashed
Into pieces.
Because I would probably have done the slaughtering myself.
It is true that
I would obviously try
Because that is what I do.
I would try to bleed through your dreams
Make them apocalyptic as
The way I lived.

You would sleep on in vague amusement.
Perhaps reminded
Of that creature not quite important enough
To be somebody
Not quite the kind that you would grace
With your words, as opposed to your needs.

© Holly Boyden 2011

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