It's All About the Hunt

I know you didn't mean for it
To haunt me even now
Despite your tries, though, I have fear,
Beyond a single doubt.

Pointed objects chase me
Throughout my morbid dreams
And when he's loose with pocket-knives
The clothes bust at the seams

And the memories they'd been hiding
Breakout and are now naked
They stare me in the face;
I wish someone would take them,

Demolish them, though not
By stabbing or by knife.
They delenda est, must be destroyed
Because now it's simply rife--

But not of good abundance;
It's full of negatives.
I try, try to forget them
But it's so hard to live

With them--the flash of silver
And threats of pointed-sharp
Stay in the mind forever;
There seems to be a scarp

(Off which I may have wanted
To jump some months ago,
Though then I knew it wasn't
The way I wanted to go).

And now with just one comment
Or hint of words to come
I hear the insults burning,
The argumental slum.

I know you may not read this,
But know this is my reason:
I don't return so often
Because I know the seasons

Will set off many tantrums,
And just when all is calm,
It explodes right in my face;
No one can be aplomb.

Forever you'll be mine
And forever I'll be yours
But I'm starting to grow up, and
I can open my own doors.

It's my life, now, and I don't need
To deal with it here.
I escape when I study;
I escape out of fear.

But still the knives pursue me,
Pointed ends still a threat
Because I've made some friends
Who make it hard to forget.

It's not really her fault
But he is sure to blame;
I've found that he has no respect
For the rules of life's game.

And soon he'll be erased,
Gone from this 'petty' place,
But I can say I warned him
And when he's lost his face

He'll ignore me or thank me--
Not sure which one I want.
But does it matter, really?
It's all about the haunt.

Nevermind my feelings;
Nevermind my head.
I'm glad that I have therapy
To sort it without spread.

So this is not goodbye;
It's just a thank-you note.
I'll be back soon, but you should know
That you won't get my vote.

I'm sorry that I learned this way,
I'm sorry that I shake
Whenever someone alludes to
That half-forgotten quake.

It shook me up; made me aware
And care about the change.
But know that now I've wasted
Time, and it will rearrange

The very fabric there on which
It floats up in the sky.
It will not leave my head;
I cannot clear my mind.

I'm sorry that you had to read
These long and tedious words
But know that I have felt this way
Since child's reasoning birds

And branches it far, if need to be.
But in the end it's the CP.

Wednesday, 07 October 2009 at 07:56