i am haunted by the blood in your eyes,
rising like the morning tide and
spilling out in rivers,
navigating the terrain of your cheeks.
and i don't think you know
that you are hemorrhaging,
staining your skin crimson --
i don't think you are even aware
that you're breathing.
you sit in silence,
staring listlessly out of the dusty, splintered window
at all of your once-luminescent dreams,
now shadowed, riven in fragile shards on the pavement below.
the man i used to know has vanished completely,
mutated into the inhuman, marble statue that you have become;
the only visible sign of life emanating from your quiescent body
is the slight rise and fall of your sunken chest.
as i brave the endless night outside your window,
i wonder if you can see me,
sweeping up your mistakes
and painstakingly hot-gluing all the tiny fragments
that you let fall from your tenth-story apartment
back into the previously polymorphous shape of your soul
until the cracks are barely discernible.
when i return to your empty room
filled with stagnant air and the stench of sycophantic surrender
there is no more blood in your eyes;
there is no more blood in your heart,
but still you turn toward me,
the ghostly pallor of your skin shining in stark contrast
to your now-black, lifeless eyes.
this time i don't watch
when you throw yourself out of the window.
this time,
i don't pick up the pieces
just to watch you smash them again.
Author notes
last night i had the most awful nightmare.
every time i close my eyes i see him, dead & bloodless, turning toward me
and smiling slightly as he vaults out of an old, cracked window
and i try hard not to listen, but i still hear the sickening crunch of bones on pavement.
needless to say, i can't sleep, and when i can't sleep, i write.
Whatever you want to say. Critiques, anything. :)
Comments
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I've had nightmares about this same type of thing with some of my own friends. It is always truly terrifying to see people that we love like this but we have to remember that they are just dreams, and dreams have no power if we don't give them any. They are just illusions our minds play when we're busy trying to sleep, holding no water in this reality. Of course, it doesn't help when those images keep replaying. I would suggest talking to the person in question, because you might have some unfinished business with them that is bleeding into your nightmares. I hope you get better rest soon, in the meantime, keep writing and getting your feelings out. It often helps us deal with things like this
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Wow. The poems great and jaw-dropping. You must have been through a very brief and haunting experience. You have a wonderful imagination but i sense truth to this poem...hmmmm... I will be reading your poems when i can. Favorite poet by far.
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Riveting
I have to tell you that the word 'sycophantic' threw me, because I thought you were saying 'psychopathic'...so I had to go look up the word and then re-read the poem again. And while I'm thankful for learning a new word, it really distracted me from what is a GREAT poem!
So, having said that, I'll tell you this is very haunting and very intense in it's subject matter. I loved your descriptions and the feelings you evoked with your words. And the way you crafted the ending was just perfect for this piece. I'm very impressed. If I wasn't distracted by the word -- distracted mostly because I thought it was a different word that had been misspelled -- I'd say this was PERFECT. Based on this poem alone I might add you to my favorite authors.
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wow! that was certainly a visual piece of writing. It kept my attention right to the end....and then I read it again. Terrific imagery.
Well done.
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