Conversations with a ghost not dead.
Lying alone inside this closet
Deep alone inside not dying.
I am waiting big… for something that might
Just fall from heaven but,
Just the sound of something dying.
Just a child alone and frightened.
With dreams of Fathers Punches…
Crushed teeth, fresh bruises…
for he was not behaving.
Making friends with silent shadows
Hiding, too, inside this closet.
Sometimes we can’t breath or see.
Sometimes The Darkness just wants to be seen.
Please… it’s 4 in the morning. Don’t make me hit the streets. So hungry. So tired, and I’m waiting for something to fall from heaven. Again. Not dying.
Lucifer was just mistaken. Forsaken. And shaken. By Thy Father so violent. Then Pushed him, his own son, down from heaven… in hopes that he’d be Forgotten.
“Trust in me, lad, all these words
Are meant to hurt.
They are not from my Father.
We…The abandoned and
The supposed rotten. No, just haunted. We will never be left so helpless.
It’s dark. For good reasons. Not just for me or the heathen.
In dark, you will see the light from You… not from heaven.
Don’t let abuse make you feel not worthy.
Not me. They should be pushed if there is a heaven.
All is not forgiven.
But they will be forgotten.”
This… all whispered from inside this closet.
Soft hands, sweet kisses, true words…
These Conversations with my ghost not dead…
© Carlson 2016
Cardigan sweater green.
Shot gun chin.
never too late for
Sun burnt scars
Bullet proof stars.
Smells of sin and
Dead veins, in hope
Shallow and vain.
Tin foil squares mark the day.
Sold, swollen but not alone.
Together. She and he.
Bored, broken and haunted.
Just love in the dark and holding hands.
© Carlson, 2015
I’ll be sitting here drunk
Catch me while Im in love again
Sell me all your luck,
and I’ll shoot you full of lies
Don’t you want it all
Tell me all you want.
I only have one heart to give
Forever always falls
from the skies.
Can I have another drink? She said.
Full of fairy tales and gin.
She tossles her hair but
Never always wins…
© Carlson, 2015
Sweats from the drink.
The bones rattle to make heat.
Pressure from the streets
Feed the breed.
The alter it splits
The Cantankerous spit
From those unthankable Gods.
Chipped and Stripped, the colorful shifts
She cries and says goodbye.
Its cold when it hits;
The solemn call from the Devine.
All she’s left with is the warmth of her broken black wings.
Her sad wings…
Wings that have always carried her…Alone.
Gifts from the crooked host; the ones thought to have been tossed and lost, were never forgotten but treasured by her.
Hope is for the fallen who have already lost. Forgiven sins…
Doesn’t exist. All thats left is love,
Power and Drugs.
Her ghost weeps with a whisper.
The flames give a flicker, as she watches the smoke give thanks to the unflankable sky.
Her heart breaks gently. Then aches into the gentle goodnight.
© Carlson, 2015
The water makes her sore,
but the quench of the thirst is worth the pain.
Washing, sipping and rinsing.
With each whisp of breath a tear drops and binds and blends to the water cascading off her bosom.
The morning never comes too soon.
The smell of coffee begins to fill the room before the sun breaks the sad.
Not sober yet but still fabulous.
Cigarette perched waiting in its tray while the curling iron twirls the chestnut waves into life.
Eyeliner but never too much.
Polka dot blouse.
The morning is ready to be observed.
But still lonely.
The Red Tail Hawk
a child hollering in the distance.
Against the sunset as blue gives way to purple I’m reminded…
This is not just my world.