Monday,

Unlike Sunday,

It is not the start of something new.

It is filled the the groans of students.

The moans of the house that was abandoned at eight.

The cheers of the six year old.

And the slamming of broken laptops.

Monday morning,

When everything goes wrong.

The highway is full of crash sights.

The schools full of shuffling feet.

Everyone on edge.

For all they know

This horrid Monday Morning,

Might get worse.

The sun is shining,

Yet all I see is black.

The pastor

Rambles on,

Speaking words

That mean nothing

Other than for everyone

To feel closure-

But that is the complete opposite of what I feel.

There has been a gaping chasm

Since you died

And I have been teetering on the edge of it,

Tempting fate,

Peering over the edge and wondering

If the plunge would truly be worse than living

There are flowers,

And they are scentless,

But to me they smell like death.

They line the pews

And their petals scatter among the aisle,

And they remind me I'm falling apart.

People are listening and there are tears

Pooling at the feet of demise.

Just because you can't see my pain,

Slicing down the skin of my cheeks,

Does not mean that there aren't shadows

Ripping away at my viscera.

My vocal cords,

Are shredded.

I can't scream any longer,

And still no one has heard me.

I am lost in the remnants that you left behind

And I don't think I'll ever get free.

I'm tired.

I'm so tired all the time.

I might be young and

You might think a lot of things about Me but the only thing in my mind Right now is

That I need a break.

My thoughts circle like the fan above my head,

Every time the bed rattles I have to tell the monster,

"No, I'm not asleep yet."

And he'll settle back down,

Wondering, no doubt,

Why can't she sleep?

For hours and hours

He waits

Concerned,

While

I think of my

Marginal successes and

Multiple responsibilities

And how I just want to give it all

Up.

Have some fun.

Let go.

Take that

Motherfucking break,

So I won't be tired,

So I finally

Won't be

So

Tired all the time.

Maybe I'll be able to

Stop counting

These task-labeled sheep,

And

The monster

Will

Finally

Get his turn.

She walks with flow

And laughs with ease

She is as fragile

As the flowers in her hair

She charms her way through it

Her suitors none the wiser

Porcelain skin

Reveals the slightest blush

I remember

That I was lovely once

Beneath the sheet, above the stone

Around the Christmas tree

The chains and links, the clanky clinks

The wailing jubilee 

A spirit in a mug appears

And sloshes whiskey round

The presents hover through the jeers

And lift up off the ground

Unlikely as it all may seem 

A table soon arrives 

As if a sugar plum-like dream

A feast of forks and knives

A demon and a goddess join

To spread good faith and hate

Embracing all the souls set free

Or ones the demon ate

Forever, all eternally 

Eclipse the season's treat

The holidays are ghastly frays 

For no ghost gets to eat

#poetry #horror #supernatural #paranormal