ECLIPSED BY A MISSED KISS WHEN
MY TWIN FLAME BURST INTO FAME š„š¬
Lately, Iāve become possessed with Acting,
A fact with no faking I like the play, my role,
Or the unknown lines Iām forced to say, though
I never signed on a dotted one nor received a sum
For the years and lines of verse Iāve written for
A famous guy who never lit my sky.
Now, i need to know how and why stars donāt fly.
Perhaps theyāre not high, mighty, or kind?
I see the past, and stars arenāt shiny or shy.
So why did a once priestly fellow become so
Beastly and yellow, but not peacefully mellow?
I donāt know, itās late and Iāve spent my day
Doing WHAT I hate with WHOM I hate,
My only āfriendā in constant possession of
A wicked case of āFailure to Communicate.ā
I call this man of mystery āancient history,ā
But he refuses to listen to me.
So Iāve spent over two years and oceans of
Tears for a lonely boy who never kissed me.
Still, Iām tortured when I imagine the phantom
WHO didnāt rock my opera, but WHO causes
ME disgrace by disguising HIS face.
I canāt find a hiding place in my brain to
Outsource the pain of being proclaimed
And disdained within such a quick time frame,
It blends and spins but never ends.
Itās now been nearly 3 years, but I canāt locate
My intended soul mate as dignity dictates.
Still, itās a crying shame Iāve been blamed
For such a wicked game!
My perpetratorās a hater and infiltrator
Who deserves to be defamed, though
I fear to state his revered name, since
Fans may fan his flames for fame.
Iām not the same since he came to me,
And though Iām no fan of the man,
No other souls believes he would love me.
Still, I wonāt Kill Bill or forget what I so regret:
Our missed kiss on unsteady but ready lips.
Now Iāll I always miss my faulty ignition for
My lost recognition of my once TWIN FLAME.
FREEZE-FRIED BY INDIFFERENCE š„µ
Temps are too extreme to wrestle,
And since youāre committed to kill,
I have a mortar & pestle that will.
It kills by grinding pounds of flesh
Until ground into mounds on grounds
Full of contagions and far from fresh.
I prefer the death it tolls to the sound
Of drowning in the violence of silence
And indifference, not even love or hate.
So, I can barely wait until my Dying Dateā£ļø
Why? Thereās no need to consult the skies
When the answerās clear in your clouded eyes:
Youāre an affront and a front of an arctic blast
So cruel, fast, hot, cold, and whiplash crass,
You freeze-fried this disaster-harassed lassā¼ļø
TOO TOUCHĆ TO BE CLICHE
Iām wiling to lose face
Building a name for myself,
Pursuing my wildest dreams,
Refusing to abandon them,
While pursuing my passion.
Barely resulting in my 15 Minutes
Of [low-rent] Fame; only to burn out
Before fading from the public view
As time goes on, passing through
The Earth rotating āround the Sun
For too many Moons, but once done.
Iāll put the āOptā out of āOptionalā
When I submit to fate and drift into
Obscurity while public displayed
As a Scapegoat who paid a blood sacrifice
To tell a Cautionary Tale about life in hell
Which failed to achieve box office success;
A lackluster ball buster, but no Blockbuster.
Iāll serve as the Damned Yankee, the vamp
Who sets you on fire while hating but
Embracing the entire Journey with
āOpen Arms,ā even though it causes harm.
What else can an unclued ingenue do?
You canāt fault a girl for engaging in a quest
For questions unanswered until the violence
Of their silence finally cancers her.
So please heed my warning each morning:
All monkeys remain in mourning, and not
A single one is a barrel of laughs šš¢
LADY MACDEATH š©ø
Out!! Out, Damned Spot!
Guilt floods HOT through my
Veins and hands in vain,
Since the plans Iām committed to
Are crimes Iāll commit, too,
Though, I know I should refuse.
My husband and I are willing to
Use any charm to cause harm
To a fellow countrymen, a dunce
We once called a friend, but my
Stature wasnāt as tall and I wasnāt
As bitter back then.
I donāt usually conspire with liars, but
Duncan hasnāt been fired and wonāt retire.
So heady ambition woos me into a state
Where I contemplate how to marinate my
Envy and Hate into a brew I can stew over
While hatching plans to murder a man,
And evidence will show upon my hands.
So, on the morrow, we shall borrow
Cauldrons with double the broil
And twice the Bubble,
Hoping to treble the trouble for
Every evil the wind blows in, since
Life merely struts upon a stage.
So when the bardās bloody hard,
Spotted hands must turn the page
Over and into a new life or stage,
Where we can engage with rage or
Find sex, gore, and war to explore.
So thank you, unborn Shakespeare,
For penning such compelling plays
We canāt forget, so like an elephant,
Your gifts always remain relevant. šš
THE āEVILā IN THE āD-EVILā š¹šŗ
The cloven-footed one refused to run
Or be cast out when I Iast āWigged Out.ā
The Beast pigged out all the same,
Laughing like my life is a Game!
My reputation is now stained with
Undisputed claims like this:
Iāve been disrobed like Job,
Stripped naked like Eve,
Forsaken and taken,
Ripped, torn, and shaken,
Stirred, unheard, and striped
Like the Christ, though no souls know
Of holes Iāve stowed which never show.
Iāll tell you all you donāt want to know:
Souls donāt see what I donāt show,
Since the act of sharing proves caring,
A virtue universally known for scaring
Innocents with a swift death.
So, should you try to hide alive inside
From the bloodshed in the woodshed,
Iāve bitten, written, and bled my answer
To your question about the digestion of
Pulp and sinew in hues I used on
Fingers which lingered when dipped in
Died in blood red, warning of events
Fate canāt prevent and wonāt dare
Anyone of anywhere of since, as
Iāve played, pled, and already said
From on high and deep down low:
YOU DONāT WANT TO KNOWā¼ļø
FLY OR DIE WITH ME
Iām a Lonesome Dove
Whoās searching for love
With Another Soul,
But itās taken quite a toll
On my un-whole heart.
Sadly, new Begins require
Lots of Ends, and itās been
So long, I canāt see the middle
Within thatās packed with sin!
It makes secret lovers of
Far too many men, and
And Iāve gotten sick of
Every last one of them!
So, like Whitney said,
Iām saving all my love
For no one tonight in bed,
Ghosted by white YOU instead!
Youāre not right in the head, so
At leasts all ghosts are dead, but
I dread your shade is blood redā¼ļø
YOU need to work on YOURSELF
Before coming back to fly high
In scarlet and starlit skies
With your long-suffering whore
Who doesnāt love you anymore.
Our nest-bed has become too
Boring and restful to mud wrestle.
But, still, our days arenāt special
Because we sleep too much, eat too
Much, donāt go out, and do not touch!
My God, but you are such a lout,
I SIMPLY NEED TO GET YOU OUT!!
Poems Futuristic, Romantic, and Painfulš§Øš 