PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I wish life was

a mathematical 

problem 

like finding prime numbers

that there was some algorithm for

constant internal struggle 

One room in my house is a lie

and you think you know what pain is

until walk inside of it

and it's like this:

my father's walls are yellow

a bright, false display 

a really bad advertisement 

Heavy whiffs of things...

war relics bathing in ammonia 

urine soaked sheets

limbs decaying 

shame. arrogance. after shave. 

There is

a mouth with thin lips

feigning ignorance

laughing in denial

spouting commands and demands 

a mouth that cannot accept its own 

sloth of an end 

and I love this man

 and he has never loved me 

Even after all I have done

 all of the late nights of 

soothing bed sores

and cleaning up horrific accidents that

made me mentally unstable 

   crying upstairs with

an unloaded .38 smith and wesson revolver to my head 

thinking 

maybe I should just load it

maybe I should stop pretending that I

mean more to him than a daily survival mechanism 

and I don't mean that in a good way 

I mean that in a selfish way

that I am literally a tool

a piece of essential equipment 

a thing

I am a thing. To him. 

and it's not fair

but there is no special formula for

making someone else love you back. 

"Prime numbers are what is left when you have taken all the patterns away. I think prime numbers are like life. They are very logical but you could never work out the rules, even if you spent all your time thinking about them."