To Ms. Annabelle
Pull, scratch, bleed
Nails on a Chalkboard
Like a gun in your mouth
Pull the trigger
Your mind upon the wall.
I scoop it up and make it my paint
Fumes of paint, so aromatic, orgasmic.
Canvas, stark white, glowing in bad lighting
Brushes soaked, stroke the canvas rhythmically
Like a surgeon
Sex, Sedate, Operate.
Nails, Fingernails, ripping to reveal
The core, jet black, soul - blood red
More paint, more paint.
The tap drips slowly, like the beat
of your dying heart
My nails, like claws and stingers
Pulling you into a bath tub
Filled to the brim with murky water
Slowly changing from brown to maroon.
Excitement, adrenaline, pumping
through my veins
It keeps me painting rampantly.
Call me Dr. Jekyll, an insanity amongst itself.
Darling, I'm an artist - things will never change.
I gather more paint from you
Your scream is enthralling.
Coarse rope and a needle
I sew up your corpse.
Bad lighting, wet floors,
Blood stained bath tub,
Flesh under my nails.
Magnificent, its finished.
The work of my life.
Glowing in bad lighting,
The canvas is no longer white -
It's vivdly red, black, and maroon
It's the story of a loveless life
and a haunting groom.
This poem is not some bullshit I made up to sound cool. I was really mad at someone and I vent my anger through it and it is paralleled with a wife's revenge on her husband. I cannot believe I have to explain my poetry to people. This makes me sad and I don't think I will post any more stuff that I wrtie.