Psyke.org

Sierra

Mad Gash

Copyright, Sierra

Tender flesh, waiting to be,
secrets hidden under a sleeve.
Creamy white, soft and smooth,
its the only way to soothe.
Just a slit, then a slice,
then a slash with the knife.
Or a rusted razor blade,
in the shape of a serenade.
No direction, just go,
imperfection bestowed.
Blood seeps, then pours out,
first numbed, then doubt.
Is there any sanity remaining?
What hate am I containing?
Need to think about why I weep.
One day is gonna go too deep…

World’s Insane

Copyright, Sierra

World’s insane,
completely drained.
“Fuck cocaine,
shoot this in your vein.”
Tied down by chains,
under so much pain.
Evil reigns,
humanity’s under strain.
Hostage in a plane,
shoulda took the train.
Trying so hard to explain,
looked down upon with such disdain.
Official raping poor Jane,
then going on with his campaign,
as if he hadn’t done a thing.
Blood seeping from a vein,
and washing down the drain,
leaving nothing but a stain.
Son of Cain,
your wickedness is maintained.
And now… even spirits are mundane.

Tap Softly

Copyright, Sierra

Tap softly on the glass,
don’t destroy it with your fist.
It’s fogged, cold, and brittle,
from rejection’s mist.
Visions of blossoms,
fallen dead in a field,
engulf my distraught mind,
one never to be healed.
Vase with one flower,
isolated in solitude.
Feeble and vulnerable,
with no grace, very crude.
Searching for solace,
yet no one hears my cry.
Abused by mere gestures,
yet no one wonders why.
Dark room, black room,
sharp and shattered glass.
In a long line of mending,
I will be the last.
I shall resign from the future,
and return to the past.

White Dove

Copyright, Sierra

Dense black clouds,
blood raining down,
flooding the land,
destruction will be grand.
Searching for higher grounds,
but nothing is around.
Doom begins to expand,
and all you do is stand.
White dove, white dove,
trapped blind by love.
You feel no need to run,
your heart has come undone.
Nothing to search for above,
so undreamed of.
No rescue, kicked and shunned.
I am sorry, the rain has won.
Pallid now in the cold blood,
clouds now empty from the flood.
Sun recedes from clouds,
light cast down like a shroud.
Dirt soaked with blood,
wing stuck in the mud.
White dove, crying loud,
hurt by a broken vow.
Lying there, waiting now,
terrified of the next rain.
White dove, injured dame,
only he is to blame,
do not be ashamed.

 

Permanent location: http://www.psyke.org/poetry/s/sierra