Friday the 13th

Maybe it’s time I pulled out my chest box,
let it see the light of day,
let it bask in the heat of the sun,
maybe it’s time I bent over,
with my flashlight on,
take slow steps down the basement,
it’s scary down here.
I don’t normally come here.
It’s really like walking to your own death,
worse than having a gun to your face,
coz it’s fired.
Friday the 13th.
When my horrors come home,
with bags full of torture.
When my torments are unending.
When my laughter is too loud,
coz anyway, I’m screaming.
When my blood flows,
as I lie willingly in its puddle.
My heart, unwilling to beat,
is it not involuntary?
My feet unable to take the next step,
my eyes shut,
my breath heavy under pressure.
I know my lungs want to explode.
I can feel them.
Somebody spark the blunt. Somebody get the taco.
Friday the 13th.
I flow like water in a stream,
let them unfold,
like a lady at her peak.
Old tattered pages,
as I look at them, I think of my wages.
I’m tired of old faces.
My demons keep whispering, “I got you”
as the shadows creep.
But how would I let them go?
I’m a hoarder.
And, and, they have been man’s best friend.
How do I scatter their ashes to the oceans,
how do I throw our memories,
to the fields of forget,
would that not be betrayal?
Man’s best friend,
held my hand when you couldn’t,
slept in my bed when your comfort I needed,
held my pen as I wrote,
scribbled on my pages,
words I never could,
so courageously,
filled my whisky glass,
as I watered my sorrow’s pool.
How do I dig the earth up,
Just to give it back it’s dirt?
How do I walk away?
“Just take one step at a time.”
Easier said than done.
Easier done than undone,
easier the start than the end.
Easier me, as your worst friend,
easier you, don’t depend.© feddiesharkhy

Published by feddiesharkhy

New age poet determined to bring out the art of poetry.

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