virtuoso
it happens
flashbacks
short term memory goes
long term stays
tucked away in dark corners
those sounds
sights
smells
are in my dead eye
a squeal
lengthened breath
blood
wailing cries
perfume
my mind becomes loud
my mouth gets quiet
i can’t speak
to the ears that can’t hear
i retreat to my cave
pen some lines
spill some paint
photograph my eyes
study the lies
grease goes in my stomach
water half up the glass
i remember the days
my mother held my hand
in mass
silent is the suffering
noisy are the pages
flesh colored camouflage disguises
me
i
blend with equal wages
don’t expect them to understand
invisible monstrous loads i carry
on the upward slope
without dope
near maddening, near fictional
but true
if i started talking
blabber would erupt
a --- would ejaculate
someone would feel better
not me
i
would just have more reason to regress
i suppress my scars
this gallant boy
within a girl
is seeking freedom to achieve
the American Dream
fearful
the omen will predict otherwise
the moon will rise
again
i will have learned
lived
lamented over
life’s trickery
i’m the black cat
this alley is mine
© 2007 Colette
By Colette
© 2009 Colette
(All rights reserved)
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