Author Topic: Useless-A Poem (Horror) There is gore  (Read 356 times)

Offline Froggo

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Useless-A Poem (Horror) There is gore
« on: October 09, 2019, 04:34:31 AM »
I don't write poetry much so, but when I do I really enjoy it. So, I would really love and appreciate feedback. Critiques, comments, notes whatever. Thanks you.


I feel useless. Was useless. Am.
But even the soldier and the farmer failed
before I.
And now leaning against the damp wall
of the basement I reflect,
not bothering to board the single window
that leaks with the soft red rays of a grievous sun.

Tearing the pages from a childís pink journal
I write these words. Even in the end
I carried my pens. Useless they said.

Oh! These mortal coils
That wrap around me like my intestines.
Dragging on the floor

I do not whimper much
as I try not to trip over the innards
or slip in the mixture of blood
of all who I knew on the hardwood floors.

Then moaning in pain ,
with just a hint of pleasure,
I try to ignore my veins as they green
a path to my heart
and my skin grays and peels.
This is my ars poetica
the fever whispers.

Oh! If only the dead could read,
but they know only hunger
They could fill their hollow legs
my grandma would say before she sunk
her teeth into that baby.
Is there something poetic in that?

No! But I put it to pen,
And wonder how the tender parts
Of me might taste in dipping sauces.
"Control yourself," warns my delusion
I spit out a tooth like a die
and smile at the banging door.

Come, come, release me before I turn
Take it all,
before I crawl through litter
-ed streets, my head swinging
on a thread that just wonít give
as I hunt,
become a predatory mutilation.

I scream the dinner bell call
and in comes the starving mob

ďDonít worry,
thereís enough for everyone.Ē
But as the bilious guests arrive
I do start to worry,
just like this Thanksgiving.
Iím was not prepared:

I watch the first succulent bite
and see in delirium
I have written nothing at all,
and I mumble a useless prayer,
like an old family recipe.