WARNING: This is rated PG-13 for two curses, and some alcohol-related content...just sayin...
NIGHT II
The door is jacked up,
and there are splinters on the ground.
This comes as no surprise; I gave in.
and let myself get dragged into the fight.
She didn’t get it, apparently,
I didn’t make myself clear on things.
No, I don’t like him, and you shouldn’t
Trust him, either. That freak,
I’ve seen him before, grinning,
Licking his teeth, sucking spit,
lusting to your dance.
I’ll kill him, I think,
or perhaps an ass-whipping
will do him nicely too.
I’m losing focus, can’t think straight
anymore. What happened to the purity,
to the light that was there near the window?
How come it’s vanished with every sun?
I creep through hours, drink one and again,
perhaps this next shot will finish me,
or give me courage to do what is right.
He is stealing you from me, I can see
that much in his eyes, and he knows
I can see it, too. That’s his game, baby,
and he has set the trap. I won’t let you
fall prey again, hurt by another,
not after what’s happened before.
One more shot, I tell myself,
and then maybe I’ll hit the black
and then I can stay there for good.
NIGHT III
I belt him in the throat, he’s crying
out to anyone who will listen.
No one even glances at us,
the street stretches open like a
widening yawn, engulfing us,
and he’s all wild-eyed, scared
shitless. As he should be,
he will never touch her again,
nor murmur in her ear, or
even find himself within the same room.
I shove him against the wall, he
collapses like a sickly paraplegic.
There is this moment, I look up
the nighttime hides my work,
and I am pleased. Light up a cig,
leave him there, find my lady,
it’s a wrap.
DAY II
My lady, she is soft,
beaming up at me as I sprawl onto
the couch, watching some stupid show
and she loves it. But I don’t. These
shows pop on all the time, and we sit,
sit, sit, sit. I want her to look at me,
start a conversation, take her eyes
off of that filth, and let us
communicate like the creatures we are.
I’m tired, and the last thing I wanna do
is stare at some whore flittering
on the screen, lying to my girl,
lying to me. I finally sit up fast,
wanting out, anywhere, flee.
“What’s wrong?” She asks me,
and I have no answer for her.
“I need some sleep.” Is the best
I can manage with.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I kiss her, and her
eyes are following me as I limp
into my corner again, and this time
I know she’s getting concerned.
But I don’t turn around,
let her have her fun for now,
there will be time to pick up the pieces
later.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
Well, I really liked this poem, but it looked a bit intimidating to me - three huge chunks of writing!
Just one little point to pick up on - capitalisation at the start of words. Unless not doing it was intentional (and it didn't seem to be) make sure you do!
Other than that, great work!
Keep writing,
Pgsgirl x
First thing; bulk. Unless the formatting has gone horribly wrong, this looks like three huge chunks of writing, which is quite intimidating. It also seems more like a story that has been split up into lines, rather than poetry. Maybe it would be better as a story.
I found the characters really come to life here, you've given the protragonist a lot of depth in such a short piece. I'd say you've definately got talent as a writer, maybe poetry just isn't your thing.