Commentary and Philosophy Poetry posted January 10, 2010 |
No Way Home
The Lost Boy
by Curt Mongold
Poem of the Month Contest Winner
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
I hear the raindrops slip in grime,
through gutters full of rancid slime, I've gone and fucked myself this time- I sold my soul for one thin dime. I can't see but just as well I know where I am by the smell I'm back down in the swishing swell of someone's favorite cheap hotel. You make me kneel in this charade, once more I dance in your parade. I'm not the only man you've made bow down until his debt is paid. But now the sin is in my veins, through paper skin the smell remains. The mind says yes, the soul complains in fractured, blood-red pillow stains. This fetid fog, disgust and shame have within their mouths my name, so softly whispering the blame over me with searing flames- til once again the sin I find in little bags he left behind that hush the mem'ries in my mind- the ones I never meant to find. I push until my soul is blind and all those memories rewind into the void where demons grind what's left of me in life unkind. Now disconnnected from my guilt I shove the plunger to the hilt and feel the flutter that will wilt these shabby walls of clay I built. The filthy floor is soothing cool, in twitching time there forms a pool of blackened blood and foamy drool- to mark the passing of a fool. |
Poem of the Month Contest Winner |
Recognized |
Monorhyme, eight syllables per line.
The side of life none of wish to acknowledge, let alone talk about.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. The side of life none of wish to acknowledge, let alone talk about.
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