Feeding the Snake

Posted: December 8, 2010 in My Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

You, who’s
betrayals are old-hat,
fat-cat, expected –
Even welcomed
because you prove me right.

you slice blood in two
like sickle cell anemia:
heaving through
tight veins
with a swinging scythe.

A bow
when you are finished,
face flushed with angry glee,
narrow, piggy eyes
red behind thick glass.

You want to see me
fall down;
crawl on hands and knees.
Lap milk
from your cobra’s cup,

say I’m sorry
for not loving you
Not touching you
harden you
to a sharpened point

so you can plunge
that knife into my heart.


I’ll never say
I’m sorry.
I’ll never crawl
or beg.

Punish me with silence;
fists, impotent
as the rest.

My blood has learned
to mend itself.

With that,
I walk away.

Audio Reading

  1. Trevor says:

    I never assume that poetry is personal, yet I should because we all know it is. No one deserves such a life and I’m happy for you that you are free of it,

    • Hi Trevor, I think of most poetry as highly personal, but that’s as unlikely as thinking it all is. I have poems I wrote about miscarriage, although I never had one, because my poor little sister had several. I guess it all hinges on reality in some way. If you didn’t feel it deeply, you couldn’t write about it. I appreciate your comments 🙂

  2. Trevor says:

    Strong emotions, powerfully written. I’m glad whoever it was walked away, who could live with that?

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