Poetry

squealing

keeling the feeling

like I’m kneeling

Sunday sorrow, and borrow

there’s no tomorrow

so stealing’s a feeling

believing and mealing

from the floor to the ceiling

it’s reeling

 to lean to the level

and sealing

a deal to the devil

this dish

this meal

disheveled

real time

the rhyme

it stops

in line

you find

your mind

entwined

with mine

you see

it seems

a firth

the sea

at first

the scene

is far

from keen

and then

a scream

comes clean

serene

There, It’s out I’ve said it. It’s done, The madness. The mayhem, expelled from the wrists to the finger to the toes to the heals. It feels unreal. But still it’s done. It’s out, it was fun. It’s not over, not even.

Like splitting my skull with my tongue it’s undone, my mind likes feeling my heart with a gun.

…and then

…

bang.

.