Wednesday, September 07, 2005

My Own Private Hell

I created The Moon
(that isn't in the sky)
I made The Sun
(that never shines)
I created the vines
(that wrap around my feet)
I made the putrid smell
(that clogs my nose)
I created the quicksand
(that I'm sinking farther, deeper into)
I made the trees
(whose branches hang low each day)
I created the sky
(that is always cloudy and grey)
I made the mud
(that can't be cleaned from my clothes)
I created the jungle
(that closes in on me each day)
I made the bugs
(that bite my flesh)
I created the brackish water
(that I'm drowning in)
I made the rain
(falling from my eyes)
I created the vultures
(who circle my rotting skin)
I made the stones
(that weigh me down upon my back)
I created the Loneliness
(who is my only companion)
I made The Rope
(that is always just out of my reach)

2 comments:

The VelvetHellvis said...

Beautifil, disturbing poems, Mac. Please don't go the route of my other favorite poets and grab the noose. Richard Brautigan, Sylvia Plath and Ann Sexton all gone and in an instant such a waste of amazing voices and talent.

Mac said...

Thanks, and no worries...I can't tie a noose to save my life--er, you know what I mean. :-)