Dollface
LULLABY
The bottle is not deep enough for him, his wife too weak, his kids too young.
The bar stool sinks with the weight of his career. A mirror across the room
reflects blood shot eyes, and a five o'clock shadow, through the haze of booze
and lust. Wrapped in the same shiny package, tied with the same shiny bow.
Skin salty from sweat, fingertips stained with nicotine, almost midnight on a
dank Tuesday eve and the rain hasn't stopped for days. Twenty minutes across
town a lonely battered wife feeds her children lullaby whispers and makes a
wish upon a falling star.
ANTICHRIST
Dusty streets lined with cigarette buts and coffee stained styrofoam cups, the
sun baking down upon the disgust of humanity, hopelessly panicking, in the
bustle of heavy populated scratchy machinery, twisted iron and hot rubber.
What a sight to look upon from the tainted skies of heaven above, sending the
signs of a black sun and bloody water, as the antichrist raps on your door with scarred knuckles and a toothy grin. You may
hide, but you may never run, for he is always two steps ahead, waiting for you
in your favorite chair with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, petting your
pussy cat, lying beneath his fingertips, just as you are; he plays the
puppeteer while he pulls your strings, making you dance for his amuse. The
blue sky turns gray, traffic stops and the horns cease to serenade. Sewer rats
come out to play while shitting and mating in between snacks. What a marvelous
life we blindly lead, laughing and smiling, lying and fucking, with a paycheck
in our hands, and a mistress in our pockets. Expensive suits and snazzy
dresses with shiny hunks of metal and a so called reputation, but not a soul.
They parade down the sleazy sidewalks, envied through the glassy eyes of the
unlucky, with their paten leather shoes and diplomas, wearing their billfolds
on their sleeves. Though your nice, clean, white gloves can't hide the dirt
forever, eventually your gloves become dirty too. Take that and put it in your
bank, then get back to me on why your plane went down the other day. Natures
fancy garbage disposal, you may call it unlucky. But I call it detoxification.
Doll's Chambers
© 2005 Dollface
Lichen1222
NOCTURNAL 3
Darkness comes
hues soften and blend
monsters come about us
disguised as our own friends
shut yourself in
escape exotic sin
tonight hold all the wonders
of my libido
the hunt runs at dusk
with a lunar mother to guide us
and there's an excruciating pause
befor we plunge into these
nocturnal activities
so fierce and quick
such sweet subtle savagery
the crescent seems virginal
but lusts behind her sweet smile
we ravage the night's more
soft sordid fantasies
quick how the virgin becomes the killer
now the womb is poised
be reborn into this
© 2005 Lichen1222
I want to add YOUR poetry here...
Email: KMisho64@acmenet.net
