What drove you to rage...

Made you kill in the night?...

...Which abysmal switch

Struck

In a way to incite

The deep sleeping tiger

That was

Always at bay?...

...Your anger seemed

Triggered

As if in your poise

You'd been grinding

Your axe

Underneath a cruel

Sun

That burnt through

Your shirt,

Never tossing a crumb

Of good fortune

Your way...

...But this wasn't the

Straw...

It was some other

Something

Tore you up

'til you're raw...

What drove you to rage...

Made you kill on a whim?...

...You'd been slipping

For days

To a fate that's so grim...

...Now it's all on

The line,

And it's you who's

Been called

To be sentenced

To hang

Underneath that

Wan ball...

©

2018

Bunny Villaire

I was so drunk on you

that I couldn’t see

that you were only

a ship in the harbor

of endless turbulent seas

full of hungry whores

and the rage

of empty bottles discarded.

I hesitated to blot out

the jangling reality

of your hostile façade.

Torn and drowned

in rapture,

I hardly noticed

the deep bloody scars

but I remember

the hammered pain,

the acid tears

burning a hole

in my psyche,

and my frozen heart

and empty soul

as I lost my grip,

piece by piece,

pleading to walk

with you

through savage seas.

Our voyage ended

when you sailed off

without me

but I still craved,

and remembered,

the driving rain

and your vacant eyes

as they drilled craters

into my essence.

You've always been there 

Even before we knew what you were

No one first measured your worth

You have the same age with the earth.

You're one of the most constant thing

So constant that when it comes to you we wouldn't dare to think

You're precious every people say

So precious that even a king could never pay. 

You're one of the things I would love to have but

Everytime I want you so,  it seems you would be cut 

The more I ran after you

The more I lose you

You're one of things I want to stay

But I think no-one can even keep you at bay. 

You're the one I can never lack

Most especially you're the only thing I can never have back. 

The cerulean sky perches

on ivory cushioned pillows,

white dumplings reflected

in still azure waters.

Pale yellow sun

spider webs her face,

drying the dew

on soft upper lip.

Cinnamon sands

filter aimlessly

through fingers,

marking life

in hourglass

of time.

Wisps of wind

sooth her

like tiny puffs

of marshmallows.

‘Might have been’

life solidifies

into darkness

as she cuts

the rope

between

insanity and genius.

Life breathes

its finality

as it plunges

to infinity.

And she rests,

in earthen bed

in peace at last.