end it

I am exhausted,

holding open my eyelids

feels like Atlas,

like triumph,

six wands,

my fingers clenched.

I am looking for my fire,

have you seen it

bathed in nighttime,

or perhaps,

crackling under your

ribs?

There is Death,

and she waits hopefully,

her sleek hair joining with rivers

of blood in my

bath tub.

28 Comments

  1. Death can ever and only be hopeful, because she has no power. You and I hold it all. And even if we surrender it, she still gains nothing. We merely become as powerless as her.

  2. The style here is, as always, reminiscent of Plath’s work whilst also being your own personal and poetic statement. I’d even say your work is like Plath in the modern 21st Century age without being contrived or just a straightforward copy. Powerful stuff that grabs the reader and drags them into your vision.

    The images with the rhyme scheme blend a microcosmic perspective to the wider scope of the outer macrocosm.

    Amazing.

  3. Sometimes staying awake to the world does feel like a titanic feat, or should I say oftentimes. [indirect] form of encouragement both in the literary and eschatological sense.

  4. query- do you channel the suicidal feeling out through your poetry, so that you won’t act upon it?

    well written, the words drop me into a mind movie that you’ve frozen in time that resonates within me

    1. aaa! I know there’s no “e” at the end of “metaphor!” — I just looked it up.

Love you, too

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s