Choka: Wedding Bell or Doom Knell

Image by cocoparisienne from Pixabay

some people sing praise

of the wonderful magic

love is like the spring

flowers and hearts are blooming

love is like summer

moon June tune and all of that

but to me love is

a whispered seductive lie

in a dark hallway

lustful shadow, lying tongue

love a mausoleum

in winter cemetery

filled with the dead dreams

of youth fallen years ago

love a pretty face

with a mouthful of grave dust

some sing praise to love

I turn my back and walk on

~cie~

OctPoWriMo 2019: Day 28: Broken Pieces

Image by Rudy and Peter Skitterians from Pixabay

I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you, Sunshine

You see, I'm feeling discouraged today

You see, my obsessive-compulsive, bipolar, attention-deficient brain

Is not complying with this idea of acceptance

You see, my quivering fuckery of a personality is feeling anything but precious

Some days she can fool herself that she's healing

That she's regaining her strength

Today is not that day

And tomorrow isn't looking so hot either

Do not come 

To my run-down, battered, dilapidated, war-torn house in the bad part of town

Looking for a bright beacon of light

Or some fucking Hallmark Channel story about the horrible old hag

Who was cured of her mental illness

And suddenly became young and pretty

You will not find her here

On the wrong side of the Cosmos

Swilling her bitter bitches brew

Wondering if today is the day when she walks off down the road

Into the cold

And lets nature take its course

Like it should have long ago

I have some bad news for you, Sunshine

Today is not that day

And tomorrow is not looking so hot either

All bad things must come to an end

But today is not that day

Maybe tomorrow

Who the hell knows?

In the meantime, I sip my bitches brew

And try to kill off the remaining feelings

Wherever they may hide

Deep inside

The toxic moonlight bipolar negative blacklight supernova

That lies at the very heart of me

~Cie~

Haibun: Mood Like A Lost Motel

Copyright enddetour

My mood is a rundown motel room. It’s dull, it’s dingy, and the view from the window is equally hopeless. Maybe there are some things in the room that used to be beautiful, but they are long faded. Hope left town a long time ago.

When there is no more

To hope for I wonder why

Does life continue

~Cie~

Note:

I am NOT looking to be told to "seek counseling" or "try meds" or any of those other things I've heard a million times before. I'm looking to express myself. Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft told me that I could express myself through dark poetry. I don't want to make liars out of my longtime heroes by having to waste my time explaining to people that I am nearly 54 years old, I know my options, and I choose to lay it down in poetic form.