WARNING!
The following poem contains language and imagery that might be offensive to some readers.
He Calls You Home
He leaves a trail like a slug;
An oily sheen that sends shivers up your back.
He blurs your vision like a drug.
A swirling set of colors fade to black.
He reeks a stench of rotting meat;
A noxious cloud of poison purple gas.
He clings like fungus to your feet.
Trips you
Fucks you
Face down in the grass.
He is the one who follows you around when it's dark,
And you're all alone.
(But you're not alone)
He is the one who breathes nightmares in your ear,
When you're at home.
(And you think you're alone)
He is the one who shits in your front yard
And throws you a bone.
So you are never alone,
He calls you home.
He screams like babies being burned;
A cacophony of haunting tortured cries.
He makes you question all you've learned.
A catastrophic brain-fart full of lies.
He pukes up poison in a bowl;
A deadly diet that will surely make you blind.
He spreads like cancer to your soul.
Traps you
Fucks you
Face down in your mind.
He is the one whose footsteps you hear late at night,
When you're alone.
(But you're not alone)
He is the one who makes you leave a light on,
When you're at home.
(And you think you're alone)
He is the one who shits on your front porch
And writes you a poem.
So you are never alone,
He calls you home.
- G. Laidlaw
© Copyright by the Author. All rights reserved. Used with permission.
No comments:
Post a Comment