TrashCakes

My skin breaks under the dew fall. Cracked and peeling, Never a worse feeling. The tender sunrise breaks through soft clouds of spring colours climbing over the hilltops to seize me. I dry under the weight of a burning sky. And as the gentle breeze begins to cool me, there is blood on the wind to remind me of my sin. I am caught in the torment of the living day. brought to my knees by each dancing ray.

I am the Sofa in the always special room. Under your bottom, but stood above the gloom. Hidden just beneath my plush cushions, and sharp and twisted springs. Are all you beloved treasures and forgotten little things.  

Hope is priceless, hope is free. Hope is my pen; weapon of mercy. Hope is my buffer from the pain, and promise the smile will return again. Hope is passion, hope is love. Hope is fought but never beaten. Hope is the damp shoulder, and the prayer every evening.

White as the crashing waves, atop the floating sea. Bright as the racing thought mistook for destiny. White as the Bone set within the tissues. Bright as all the words are misused. White as the cloth, just before the spill. Bright as the clever monster waiting for the kill.

Happy Mother's day to the woman who walked the other way. Infant defiled , leave me in my freezing tomb. Surrounded by shredded promises and discarded intentions. I was never yours! your play and actions tell me so much. Yet I'm just like you. Look into my eyes, I reflect you! Made from your rotten body, and sick ghosts haunting those dark places I crawled to when I had nothing at all. Forced to run before I could walk, You have made a MONSTER of me! I trip over myself on the daily. Never learned to speak, but who needs words in the deaf valley. This cranny between life and death. between the big houses and the gutter. That's where I reside

The sun won't rise again, so the world is dark. The moon can't light the dark places. Each star a sun to someone, can't be the sun for me. My world is cold, unheated, warmth has forsaken me. The night with no hope for morning, nor rest. There will be no warm months. The world has stopped turning. Locked in frigid stillness, drifting pointlessly. No sun left to bring the balance. My world is left crashing, hurling thoughtlessly in the dark night so blinding. No one will hold, nor comfort me. The sun is unreturning. And the unrelenting emptiness can not warm this dark lit place.

Bitter cold on frosted lips. Burning flesh beneath the snow. The wretched ghost has rot and so, Ache and twist, hunger is the legacy. Like a cold to catch and be. Bloodied hands gnawed to the bone, Divulge the solitude wrecked alone.