Strange Love…

Prayer for Escape

-“Thou has the key of Paradise, oh just, subtle and mighty opium.”
-Thomas De Quincy
Confessions of an English Opium-Eater

These are the nights which
spiral down to seconds
between decades of lows…

Blessed is this arm, strong
with vibrant veins
the streams to higher consciousness.

Blessed is this vial, protector
of brown powder
the treasure chest of my soul.

Blessed are this spoon and fire, hot
springs of liquid gold
the relaxant of a tense mind.

Blessed is this syringe, sharp
underworld acupuncture
the escape of a limited body.

Blessed is she, my heroine
who smacks me
with the key of paradise.

O god, these are the nights-
cold, claustrophobic nights- which
spiral down to seconds of
jittery junk between
decades of lows.

Who Believes in Love…?

At First Sight

I know, you know, I noticed
you from across this crowded room; fingers
weaving upwards in the strobe lights, tattoos
like fine bruises on your tan skin.
You are already the object
of admiration for half the women here
and I am one of your worshippers, from afar, leaning
casually against this wall. Who are you
and what is your story, lone dancer
in a circle of gyrating bodies? If this scene
were a painting, you would be the vanishing point
we’re all drawn to, inexplicably.

In the semi-darkness I feel your eyes
land on me, but I, refusing to return
the intensity of your stare; find interest
at the bottom of my bottle of beer. When I look up again:
the music is still pounding, the lights are
still pulsating, and the bodies still sway; but you,
you are gone and I mourn your absence , wishing
I’d returned your gaze.

“Her name is Theodaisia…” An unfamiliar voice
caresses my ear, when I turn
it is you, Goddess of tonight; chewing
slightly, on your lip ring “…but you can call me,
Theo.” Your smile reaches your honey eyes
and your tattooed-kissed arm
extends to me, melts
my caramel skin. “Zana.”
I give you my stupidest grin and right now
My name sounds like I said
the stupidest thing.

Yet, your smile erases my feelings
of inadequacy and I almost say something weird
like: “Your aura shoots
sunbeams…” But you beat me to the punch
describing how I “walked
out of your dreams”. And instantly I know
I have never felt anything:
this deep, this hard, this
rushing…

“Zana…
what are you doing?” You, my Theo, queen
of my fantasies, snaps me back
from my revelry. I smirk, pull you close
and tell you, “reliving
my favorite daydream.”

A Higher Desire….

A Higher Desire

I know you have questions
you want to ask me
why I did it? If I
was trying to
punish you? But, you were
the furthest thing from my mind
most certainly further than
the last time you hit
me : yesterday…
or the last time I couldn’t breathe: five seconds
ago…

But, you don’t care about that
want to hear about how
it effects you
or the part that explains how you impacted
my life; negatively. See,
even during my death
you are Narcissistic; more concerned
that you are tracking
blood across your pristine white carpets
than that you are stomping on my life
spreading me thinner than I’ve already been.

Can you fathom the reality
of my decision; through
your you-colored eyes, see
briefly, through my glassy dead ones?
Understand me
as more than your now
stuffing-less punching bag…see me
scared, anxious
pressing that cold spotless blade

to my purple splotched wrists, afraid, remembering
the two bottles of pills
that didn’t work, how
before the EMTs came you said,
you’d kill me, if I told…
you’d always kill me
if I told. And I wonder, now
how many times I wished you had killed
me fast, instead of slowly…
did it yourself, rather than make me
do it for you.

Not that it matters, here or there, now
that I’m here and you’re still there telling
the inquisitive officers: “I’m unsure
of why she did this, didn’t know
why she desired death…”
And now I don’t know why
I desired you at all; you who could never change
anything more than your clothing, and I
could never change enough
for your liking…

Now, as they zip me up
and cart me off, I know
that you—devourer
of my love—haven’t even taken
five seconds to glance
more than through me.

The Altered-Ego Project:

A poetry project in which I'm writing an unlimited (as of this time) number of persona poems.  All that I need is some personas, that's where you all come in. A Persona poem consists of:

dramatic monologues where only one person speaks  or multi-voice poems which feature more than one speaker .  It involves assuming the voiceof a historical or imagined figure.

What I need is any persona.  Historical, ficititious, real-life, inanimate object, anything whatsoever.  As much detail about the "character" as possible, anything that u think might be important probably is!  If the location plays a role than that info too. 

If u have one to submit email the information in the content of an email to: aliasblue4@myway.com . 

Please don't send me responses on here unless it's a pertinent question.  The above emails have been set up specifically for this project.  Submission, signs u up for nothing, ur email addy will not be used or saved.  There's no grand benefit, except helping me.