For Myself

Here's the new poem. Think of this as a sequel for the last one. This poem also has a second part which I have the concept for drawn out but I haven't inked but a few of the first lines yet. Anyway, here it is.

Granted For Taken

Thirsty whores.

With bodies free
from the briuses of stones.

Dressed in white.
With veils
that mask empty eyes,
obtuse noses,
and snarling,
cherry-red lipstick smeared,
lips,
with tongues bent around the sharpest of lies.

Bleeding through the grin of crooked teeth.

Blood-stained gowns.

The result of unsuccessful attempts at
dry
cleaning
and nervous hands;
Pushing down the tide of guilt,
Scraping clean the palms
that placed knives
into the new homes and warmth
of innocent chest cavities.

Scraping...

Acting as if they had never bathed.

As if they had never been bathed.

Born again
strangers
to bath tubs and bakeries;
filled with a self consciousness
which fuels a hostile
bulemia.

(They all think you're fat.)

Losing pounds and gaining weight...

The results are taste buds
well acquainted with the flavor
of stomach acid
and unfamiliar with water's texture.

Sour,
tearing away at the esophogus
with each fruitful heave,
half-digested grape juice and crackers
exit through the mouths they entered
spurned on by gluttonous hands
which now profane
the blood of a promise
with two fingers down
infected throats
that have professed guilt,
which have sung,
"Once was blind,
now I see."

See
the timing with which
they step.
A beat disguised by the
Christmas Gift
of new shoes.

They put them on every
Sunday morning.

But through the week,
they wear bare feet,
collecting the dirt
that lies between the fibers of carpet
covering the bedroom floors of their many lovers.

The only layer they never remove.

Bearers of an old disease,
passed on for generations,
they constantly ingest a drug
to which they were given a perscription
with unlimited refills.

These pills they swallow
are stored in a bottle
with a sticker bearing instructions:

TAKE (WITH WATER)
ONLY WHEN NEEDED

and a warning:

CONSISTENT USE
MIGHT CAUSE ADDICTION

With this in mind
they surround themselves with bacteria
and,
with the aid of cheap wine,
turn what was meant to be a medication,
into an Immunity Cocktail.

Strengthening sickness with the antidote...

Strung out,
rising from the bloody pools
that have consumed their bathroom floors,
they stand
(somehow)
to meet their reflections in
drug cabinets.

Doing their best
to rub out mascara streeks
from moistened cheeks,
the make-up is removed.

An ugly face remains.

A life that can no longer be
painted by
nail polish and hairbrushes
is revealed.

There is nothing left.

Falling
to recieve their deserved destiny,
their bodies never touch
the cold tiles of the floor.

Instead,
unmarked arms wrap around their torsos,
lifting them so they might carry on.

The Husband
gently strokes his wife's unclean hair
and kisses her softly on her cheek.
(as she had done when walking out the door.)

He says:

"I know where you've been.
You've been running again.
Let's get you cleaned up,
put your shoes on,
(we'll double knot them this time)
and go out for dinner.
I bought you a beautiful white dress.
It's similar to the one you used to have.
Do you remember?"


.epoHenOevahllitsew
Good Providence