PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Yes, there was a time

I was obsessed by melancholy,

I saw deep sadness,

The quality that so tormented

My former favoured idols,

Poets, painters,

Musicians, actors,

Creators of every kind,

As glamorous and romantic,

But it’s not,

It’s not remotely romantic,

When you yourself are adrift,

And weighed down by a multitude of woes.

I am a dreamer
of dreams,
said Sadie,
a sleeper in beds

not always my own;

my body hugs
the nearest flesh,
kisses on

someone's shoulder,

embraced in
another's arms.
My childhood sweetheart

went away,

left me
in dark shadows,
indulging in

my secret whims,

fingering my hive,
my honey pot,
as he once

called it,

embracing my body
when no one would,
kissing my own shoulder

with my chilling lips,

pretending his arms
were about me,
instead

of my own.

I see death
in each shadow,
angels in each

smiling face;

his finger down my spine
like a viper's lick,
I am the spidery widow,

the sucker of men,

the holder of testicles;
I lick their juices
in my dreams.

My hero comes

only in dreams,
his armour shines
and gleams,

his sword is mightier
than my fragile pen,
his shield surrounds me,
his lance pierces

my cunt,
moves me to tears,
sucks
my breath away,

wait for life,
he will say.
My lover swooned
in my arms,

sucked me
to pleasure,
whispered
his honeyed words,

breathed his
I love you
in silvery tones,
to make me whine,

and make
sweet moans.
He showed me
handfuls of butterflies,

told me truths
and told me lies,
made me laugh
and cry,

licked me
like a melon,
browsed
between my thighs,

kissed my virginity,
said hello
to my sad goodbyes.
I lost a baby

in my sack
of a womb,
it dropped from me
like sweet sad meat,

my eyes scanned it
as it went its way,
the last good bye
carried on

my cry,
buried
in my heart,
aching

in my skull
and dreams.
An uncle fucked
me from behind,

he left his mark
like a devil's kiss,
I see his face
in a thousand mirrors,

his voice
in a cacophony
of sounds,
his smell in the odour

of long dark nights.
An aunt lied
through her teeth,
she knew

I was right,
he was there
that night,
doing his deed,

she turned a blind eye,
and with lashing tongue
brought upon my head,
lying bitch,

she said.
I am a haver
of nightmares,
a sleeper

of shallow sleep,
my arms are punctured
by the needle's kiss,
the junk sails

me away,
the men in my life
are sailors of woe,
they drift in my seas,

on board my ship of doom
wherever she goes,
my body's tall sails;
nothing makes me laugh

or cry except
my baby's touch
in death
which never fails

Cry with the wolves,

And watch the devils play,

With advantageous eyes,

On the souls of men.