Poem II
There was nothing I could do.
I would have worn that gingham dress,
And massaged the same hands you brought down upon me,
Until both of our lights went out,
And I traded my masculinity for quiet nights making your lunch.
Have you taken your,
Lithium?
I followed your every direction,
Doing party tricks with the disposition,
Of a house wife that only got enjoyment,
With a secret cigarette between her lips,
While her husband slept beside the baseball bat,
Never knowing just who he would turn it on.
I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN HANDLE YOUR,
OUTBURSTS.
My hands shake as I think of the stars that night,
The police lights were a fitting end,
To a relationship enacted on the road.
We turned onto a street that only promised of a harsh dead end,
And I jumped before you crashed that car,
Right into the neighbors front yard.
Love is nothing you deserve,
It is merely something I grant you with.
You painted my consciousness with delusions that do not end,
My psychosis makes my world shift,
And I finally understand why Van Gogh painted like he did.
You will never be more than I,
Will you to be.
You are a mere creation in my godlike hands.
My environment is shifting in shades of cerulean and crimson,
And I am afraid I will have to leave you in that jail cell,
Because I am painting with colors,
That have now marked my freedom.
It’s never gone good in what we call The Garden of Eden,
The snake has always existed and yet,
So did I.
The snake curls itself in my ribcage,
Forcing my emotions to be forced upward,
Falling from my lips in a black sludge.
That damned apple,
Force fed to me by Eve’s gentle hands,
Opened me up to The World outside these walls.
Blasphemous sinner,
Tell me you need me while my hands,
Wrap themselves neatly,
Around your exposed throat.
Tell me you want me,
Before Archangel Michael,
Finds out my biggest regret,
And sends me back to the place,
Where sinners do not rest.
Put out a votive candle for me in your window,
Darling.
I want to be the prayer on your lips,
As you beg the morning sun,
For mercy.
Light is a poet that exists in the void between reality and space dust. Light is a concept more than a man. An anonymous poet is still a poet even with his hands tied. Find him exclusively on Bluesky @lightworksofatlas
The Marbled Sigh 