ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel

Divisible Wrists Bleeding Sorrow.

Updated on March 12, 2010

 

Divisible Wrists.

 

 

I scream but

no one hears,
they walk right

through me,
my wrist are ragged,
sliced clean

to the bone,
and I am

somewhere
beyond comprehension,
dark shadows dog me
and I am barely ahead
of their foul

fetid breath,
my mom and dad just
kept on watching the T.V.
I leaped and jumped

in front of it,
but they gave

no responses,
then something
yanked my leg real hard,
scaly, hot, and slimy,
I ran, zig zagging,

with their claws

scritch-scratching

close behind,
I must pause,

catch my breath,
but wait it's

freezing outside
and I don't have one,
"What the hell!!
what's happening to..............."
....................ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhrrrgghhhh.

 

 

 

 

©-MFB III

 

 

 

 

 

The Innards Of The Cities.

 

I have walked the

concrete wastelands,
wandering shadowed

alleyways, lost in time.
I am the hobo who froze

to death in a Frigidaire box,
curled into the same fetal position
as when I entered the world.


I am the hooker who once

strolled the bright avenues,
now battered by lust, black and blue,
I lie in a dumpster on fourth street.


I am the stray bullet from a drive by,
embedded in a toddlers brain,
to close to the vital stem to remove.


I am the legless veteran

by the subway tunnel,
counting change,

shaking a cup at each passerby.


Once I ran through

jungles counting coup,
but was left shaking when

a mortar took my legs.


Lost in time, we are

the annoying ticks
in the corner of your eyes,
the ones you  would never tock to.


The debris of human suffering,
as well as the manufactured

methods for dying
that steal your breath

if you mingle too long
in the concrete wastelands.


We are absorbed

in the steamy vents,
and back alley soils,
we haunt the canyons

 of marble and brick,
it is our living hell.


We number

in the millions,
flitting neon-like

between the crowds
we touch nothing,

but are the flesh and blood
of all concrete wastelands.

 

 

 

 

©-MFB III



Comments

    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    • Micky Dee profile image

      Micky Dee 7 years ago

      So much needless suffering. Do me before I do you.

    Click to Rate This Article