Alone In Bed

Beautifully used lines wrote as ugly lies in a letter used to paint an image in his false love mind.
Gorgeous flowers once vivid in color, living amongst each other died in the rain shower of hate and bitterness.
Spoke to release verbal energy to a candle igniting it’s tip and spoke about my past relationships
Sentimental moments in a clouded room filled with broken trust and false promises collecting dust.
I have been a conservative spiritual existing being with chains on my neck, wrist and ankles.
My mind isn’t dead yet, but my body is already a prisoner of words. Words like my stomach acid without stomach mucus to protect me from being eaten alive by my own toxic verbal vocabulary.
It’s gets uglier as I write, just like this poem, pure ugliness written in creative ways. With no thought for anyone else to say it in my dismay.
I bring the April showers to may as I bring May day to June as I leave my writings in a field filled with dirty secrets written in a plethora of books.
No, this has nothing to do with how I look, or how I feel, but it’s my reality I have to tell.
Tales of Shakkan and His Best Friend moving in and out of the subconscious mind into the conscious mind as I am aware of my tolerance of what’s running around in my mind.
Jazz music plays in the background as I write this excessive poem to the girl who said she’ll always love me and never leave me to be alone with my own disease, but I screwed her over with my own words that left off my tongue and out from between my teeth.
Know what happens when words come across the table like asking for butter to spread on my breakfast bread? You get the butter, but no knife to make the spread.
That is how it felt to have love for a chick who left you alone in bed…

 
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