My Derailment

          I didn’t care, I knew my price. Maybe I was always ready for this, for the storm to break than have great make-up sex after. Maybe I didn’t mind that part. Maybe is all I could think about  as John yells at me from across the kitchen table, telling me how wrong I am. What I have learned from being with John was that he was always right…no exceptions.  Our relationship can be characterized as this saying, “When you say jump I ask how high.”
         Yes, it can be kinda harsh at times, double-standard is no picnic, but I don’t care. I love that I can please him, show him I am only his, show him that I would never leave him. When were in bed or if he calls me to talk and shit gets hot I love when he moans my name, “Ophelia.”  Afterwards though can be tied as my favorite, because after we make up and where lying there he gets vulnerable. It’s like his heart spills out what he does not always say, like I am his only reason to breathe. That’s why I don’t mind John yelling at me, I can take it I’m a big girl, because I know after the storm, is the rainbow…my drug.
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        “Ophelia,” John whispers in my ear as I lay in bed crying, this time he has gone to far. I lay there broken with bruises tattooed across my body.
        John lays next to me, running his fingers through my brownish-blackish hair whispering my name over and over again, “Ophelia, Ophelia, Ophelia I’m so sorry baby.”
        I can’t bare to look into his eyes, so I focus on the picture behind him, a clown happy and sad. John put that picture up on the wall for me, because he knew how much I changed my mind. One day I could think this, one day I could think something different. Today is something totally different.
        I finally look into John’s eyes, into his blue hurt eyes and remember he was scarred too.  I take his fingers and guide it up my pajama dress, whispering in his ear, “It’s okay.”
        John kiss me hungrily, baring his teeth against my skin as I pull his hair, waiting for the mess to heal up. Laying there letting him take charge is when I know I will get my reward later.
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Flowers for my Father

Cold ice hands strangle my lover,
her eyes turn shades of blue and leak out,
oh how pretty!!!
I see her take her last breath
and scream with a gasp as her life blacks out,
death dances upon her lips as snow falls down,
Oh how pretty!!!
Bloody prints lead to the knife,
in my hand,
I wake up from my nightmare
and realize it was real,
I see her sometimes in my dreams,
sometimes on the streets,
her bloody nose and snow that dances on her lips,
her eyes interlocking my,
Oh how pretty!!

Contemplating reality and fantasy

As my dreams drift to sleep
and I lay awaken,
counting my regrets,
I settle in silence,
contemplating reality and fantasy,
where does the line divide,
as my nightmares awaken in a sweat,
I lay back down as reality play violins and car crashes
take the life of lovers or friends,
such a pity of young spilt blood,
and of moral decay the youth screams signs,
not begin taken a live,
true spirits soar and vanquish in a division of
nothing left,
sure as the sharpened glowing eyes  tell me of roaring pianos that play
a soft song and chimes,
kept in a box,
kept in silence,
stitched up,
stitched to be perfect as a chucky doll,
so swallow the poison of your lies
and eat up the love