"Poem"

-experiencing with  the peculiar.

You are a taunting apparition,

an evanescent image

bobbing your head, steadily, like a pendulum.

The mirror is the canvas on which you paint your sorrow and your wrath.

It all helps for one fleeting moment, until viscera deserts me.

There is a place where a fraction of the ones like me are confined to,

they knock their heads profusely on unyielding bars.

A wound – shallow, winks at the reluctant spectators;

like the indention of a precisely thrown scalpel.

You think me alarmed by a pair of puffy eyes or moved by the sobs

of restless graves.

But I, I can pick the shovel, with erect fingers and dig the damp earth to caress your skeletal cheeks

then take methodical steps back to that complicated life.

You shun my touch–a touch that will never reach the vestige of you;

I’m seldom surprised.

My words at the place where we uttered our ultimatums were faultless,

accepted with a sad nod of heads.

But then your mother sobered and exclaimed;

“You fucking psycho”.

Heads snapped upward, looking from side to side feeling embarrassed for your mother

I stood, unblinking; she wrapped frail arms around herself

and inhaled fresh gulps of dignity.

I apologize for men that rip petals from gentian violets,

I apologize for men like me.

But I, I’m truly not sorry.

- DjPrecise