I always have this fear that the bits of darkness I own, let slip out in my stories and poems, will come back to haunt me and be what drags me down. Honestly, I think that’s the fear we all have and it’s what usually stops us in our tracks to plug up whatever fucking hole, tiny crack, that demon thinks it can creep out of. More often than not, we’re shutting our mouths and burying our truth.
Sometimes I feel like a baby, just discovering my hands and amazed with the power of what they can do. Did you know, if you want to, you can pry your mouth back open too, let it finally speak the truth? Sometimes I’m still scared, even as I’m talking, that this is going to be the final thing that does me in – yet here I am, still standing.
Subconscious Murderer
I was past the point of enjoying sex with you.
When you’d fall asleep, my mind would get to work
stirring up these crazy dreams, not even asleep.
I can’t even count the number of times I killed you off
casually glancing to see if blood covered the sheet – it never did.
When she told me she watched her mother use her body
a tool, a tactic, to get what she needs, manipulate men – she was disgusted.
I didn’t know until now how proud of myself I was for telling the truth
what she’s saying her mother did, I believe, I did it too.
I picked up these habits, we all do, learning to survive
but the truth about growing is there’s a time for everything to die.
You overstayed your welcome, I overstayed mine
and I didn’t even see it until in my mind
I started saying goodbye, one death at a time.
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 