Deception

[Danielle1982]

Sawdust for blood spilled over
the oil of grief I wrapped myself in
just for you.
Taking the parts that make a woman breath
while choking the red out of my heart.
Your hands show the scabs
of mistrust to match
the bruises around my neck.
I crawl beneath the angry wails
of midnight while your eyes
torture me looking for a reason.
There’s no excuse
to pour the white of my soul
over the shadows of the past.
You don’t see me with reflections of myself,
you choose to ignore the simple gestures
of my broken expectations,
not that I desire to listen
to the mass of memories
piled behind my eyes.
Why am I the one that bleeds
for the future of this awkward fortune,
to live at the whim of your satisfaction.
Chosen for deception,
the greatest evil,
that lies for its peace.
I prefer to be marked for blasphemy
so I can remain poison
that threatens the thriving
ideas of what you think I am.
Touch not what you cannot resist,
for my only weapon
is to kill you in your sleep.

[Dew]

I was intrigued right from the start with that opening line...feeling like dirty and repulsive shot through my mind while I read...but with so many words, I couldn't help wondering if the conversation was really ending, or just turning the page. A frightening idea...I enjoyed! - Dew

[Poetress]

frightfully wonderful read. Part of me didn't want to read it al the other part was too curious not to stop...
well done

[bandgeekfreak]

Wow, the imagery is amazing. It drug me in and I couldn't stop reading. Amazing poem.

[candlewitch]

hello,

this is a wonderfully penned poem of torture slow and poisonous. very descriptive language. I felt every word of it. I've experienced it for myself in a similar situation, a long time ago. In a relationship I felt trapped in. I was lucky and I did finally escape, but the abuse is forever a bitter memory. I understand the last couple of lines explicitly! I hoped it wouldn't come down to murder, but I thought about it often. I identify, too, with these lines:

you choose to ignore the simple gestures
of my broken expectations,
not that I desire to listen
to the mass of memories
piled behind my eyes.

always, Cat