Bloodshot Poetry
I was first approached by an English teacher regarding my writing in 7th grade. I had apparently written something concerning enough for them to check in with me. They asked me if I had anything going on at home and I told them no, this is just how my writing comes out. I like to think I left an impression on most of the English, literature, reading and writing teachers I’ve had, as much as they have encouraged and guided me. In all honesty, it’s the only thing that keeps me out of trouble.
Blighted room of dark intent
Hellbent Executioner
Switch pulled
Click
Methodical walk in utter solitude
Stand and witness sin
Body convulses
Masked and Hidden
Past
Present
Future of pain
Camera shutter
Click
Second in time
Captured
Sweat and foam her blood seeps
DEAD!
Apprehensive egress I must escape
Publishers pester
Horror
Unbeknownst
I knew
News now knows
Dead!
Papers float
Murmurs cross crowds
“Dead, she’s dead!”
Not dead
I witnessed
Not dead
Killed
Executed
At risk of sounding pretentious, repetitious, though perhaps my snark is misplaced. I feel insane but truly I have no idea; I’ve stopped asking why. Lying is for my back not my words.
Good Trouble
Scanning ahead
Eyes across, cross-eyed
I’s lost and confused
Reread the sentence
Blink twice
Words used
Turn the page
Forward and backward, open and Shut
Past Present Future tenses
Making cents out of sentences
Parallel structures
Synchronicities
Sins across the city
Good memories
Mostly forgotten
Cranberry Sauce
Come and find me.
Fine me, come to fight me.
Bring yourself, I bring you down
Fisticuffs and silly words
Big men like you rule the world
Come to end me I’m not pretending
I’m out of sight
Stuffed Roasted Glazed now slice
Carving your gut served well spiced
Pass the gravy
Did you want some brains?
We’ll have to get take out
He was hollow, we’re all out
These boots look good
With the curb painted too
Delicious and Rich
Red dripping goo
