Poetry of a Conlanger

Monday, May 08, 2006

Ça c’est la fin (that’s the end) (5/6/06)

Disbelief and shock-
No, no, no, that’s not true,
This sour flower isn’t unfolding
In my front yard!
But it is.

Burning with sheer rage-
Not simple anger,
But shaking
With the complete desire to maim or kill.

Her simpering smiles,
Kittenlike protests of innocence.
His lies, false as a mask-
Green nausea burns in my stomach.
I can’t eat. I can’t sleep.

As his tide goes out to sea without me.
Time, a drug, flashes in and out on a high.
Actions are unstoppable,
And my claustrophobia kicks in.
I want it to stop, but there’s no time,
No time.

And throughout it all,
A sewer-undercurrent
Of undiluted pain,
The pain of betrayal.

Crash and try not to implode.
Let me extrovert this once, please.
Lash out, lash in,
Take one last, long look.


And then I am
Through the fire –la flamme-
Over the hill,
And into the foggy land of coping.


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