Manic Monarch

Discussion in 'Poet's Corner' started by BelovedDreamer, Aug 28, 2006.

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  1. BelovedDreamer

    BelovedDreamer Well-Known Member

    I hurt.
    My hands ache.
    My feet ache.
    My chest burns.
    I hurt everywhere.
    In every inch you see
    And in all the hidden places of my body
    The secret places of my soul.
    “Everything’s uncertain
    Except that my soul is burning.”
    I am burning alive
    And I cannot even scream.
    Please take it away
    And if you cannot do so
    Take me away.
    Anywhere but in this slow dying
    This immortal endless
    Vapid existence
    This helpless useless
    Unwanted condition in which I languish.
    I am swollen with disuse and overuse
    Stretched beyond my bearings
    My joints aching with the strain.
    I am sodden with this heavy, empty wanting
    This powerless need so great
    That it overwhelms me
    And despite my resolutions
    I take a deep lungful of wet
    Cantankerous yearning.
    This is what it is
    To drown in your own stupidity
    Your own reasonless mania.
    For one moment
    I go manic
    I am soaring
    And I believe
    Will all the power of my driven mind
    That I will succeed
    I will get to the place of my desire
    And I will be taken in
    And desired
    And the things of which I despair
    Are possible.
    I could throw myself bodily from a cliff
    And sustain no lasting harm.
    But then I fall
    With a resounding thud
    Hit the ground of reality
    And taste its gritty pavement grate between my teeth.
    Everything grinds to a halt
    And starts back up.
    A record scratching.
    I thrust my hands into my pockets
    Shake my hair into my eyes
    And grip the sidewalk with my stare
    As if I could hold it there
    Solid and stolid and unyielding.
    Nothing is solid
    Nothing is true
    The manic faith will not last
    And will do me no good.
    Better I stay on this ground
    Stay grounded in my cynical despair.
    I won’t get my hands chopped off again
    If I keep them safe in my sweatshirt pockets
    And don’t reach out again.
    I am safe.
    No one will touch me when I am toxic like this.
    Angry loud
    The backwash
    Of partially digested pills
    And cleaning fluid
    And stomach acid.
    I taste like bile and bitterness
    Swallowed whole
    And thrown back up
    A monarch butterfly
    But untenable.
    Last edited by a moderator: Aug 28, 2006
  2. BelovedDreamer

    BelovedDreamer Well-Known Member

    And taste its gritty pavement (dust) grind/grate between my teeth.

    oops didn't finish editing
    not that it matters but, it should just have been...

    And taste its gritty pavement grate between my teeth.
  3. theleastofthese

    theleastofthese SF Friend Staff Alumni

    Dearly Beloved;

    Is it right now?:unsure: I mean, is it now the way you intended? If not, let me know and I can fix it. I understand the frustration of finding a typo or error and not being able to fix it, having no 'white out'.:rolleyes:

    Last edited by a moderator: Aug 28, 2006
  4. BelovedDreamer

    BelovedDreamer Well-Known Member

    yay! thank youuuuu muchly. it was buggin the hell out of me :tongue:
  5. I loved it anyway (including the title). That desperate want to reach what COULD be, potential, wish, possibility - and being hurdled back to earth with a thud, gravity of dark feelings the fault.

    More just from the title alone, I got this lovely picture in my brain of the wee things flitting about from one flower mission to another. With your words, inspite of your circumstance, you DO manage that! Great stuff Beloved...

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