Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
You are chosen
by the sunlight,
your lover
by darkness.
Shadows like spiders
entangle this lover’s box,
creaking open
to spill your fears.
Old and shriveled,
you hide
amidst the twilight.
He, forever lost
to the night,
is always beautiful.
You lower the lid
and, with great sadness,
walk away,
the only true gift
ever received
now left behind.
Thoughts travel my head
down hateful,
repetitive,
full-of-pain avenues.
The tortured voice
of evil is mine,
attacking:
you are fat,
you are stupid.
you’re so alone.
Despair lies close
to the surface.
How do we
keep from giving in?
Can we learn to live
with our shortcomings
when confusion and regret
are at constant intersection,
crashing,
leaving us injured
and bleeding
at the side of the road?
Awakening to count sheep
in my pajamas,
unable to replace
bad deeds with good,
I lie to you.
Number three and a handshake,
told in shadows and tones.
Guilt holds me under
‘til my body rises,
pain deep in the center
like a rock.
He takes her
to the hilltop
in chains,
but she won’t listen.
She’s a brick,
all softness gone.
Thin lines,
not always drugs,
prove still addictive
and, having a long time fear of water,
drown me in my own guilt,
calling from the darkness
as I sink below.
expectations
are like handcuffs
with no key
leaving you tied
to your bed in a
compromising position
* * *
I want to grunt
and bury my hands
up to the armpits,
sway my hips
and dance my legs
around you
‘til I’m stained,
past possible
to clean.
Then I’ll come again,
blue and billowy
before you,
push my hair
behind one ear,
you sweet young thing.
So scrubbed
and oh so damaged.
Faded stains,
but never clean.