Tag Archives: lunatic

Empty vessel

He stole away
Under the cloak
Of darkness

Backpack thrown
Carelessly
Over weary hunched
Shoulders

Filled with
Unsuspecting
souls
Carelessly collected
Over nowhere
Miles

Casting shadows
Of doubt
Calling it love
Leaving a trail
Of broken bits
Wherever he goes

© jillterry

 

Advertisements

Letter to Veronica No.1

Dear Veronica Lake,

The truth of us.

Something you believe only the two of you share; yet something we’ve all been forced to wonder about. We too had a truth in an airport, he and I; just as he had truths made up of lies with a plethora of intelligent, creative, beautiful, loving, soulful women; all of which were spoon-fed the exact same line, differing only slightly, as the situation, circumstance and female heart warranted.

At this point, you refuse to believe that which your mind has forced you to wonder of; as your heart precariously dangles by a soul string. Wanting so much to believe that he is who he says, that YOU are the twin of his flame, the mate of his soul and yours is the only connection that is real and matters. Refusing to believe that what you shared during your time together meant nothing, when it meant and still means, absolutely everything to you.

Finally realizing, for the first time in your life, since your karmic connection, that YASS, this is the way it was intended. Finally another soul on earth, who understands you like none other. No judgments; just complete, unconditional acceptance and love. Exactly what you always knew, in the depths of your soul, love was supposed to be. Every wasted moment and past mistake leading to this crossroad that brought the two of you together….

Ignoring the red flags, due to his lifetime membership within the upper echelons of intelligencia. Stories of his dysfunctional and abusive childhood, which as a mother you can surely sympathize. His self-destructive pain and angst, leading him to long for death; his only comfort found within darkness’ welcome embrace; singing always that sweet song of stygian.

Believing in your heart that your love for him can and will make a difference; that happiness can be found and shared, if only he would allow himself to trust, believe and take your hand. At this point, your perception of your own reality so skewed that you know for certain the only way to survive this life is with him by your side.

Wake up, love. This isn’t a classic movie you’re starring in; this is your life you’re allowing him to fuck with. There’s an antidote for those of us who have been infected with this disease; the first step is realizing you want and need to be cured.

The sooner you realize that there is no truth where the Hyena is concerned and the only reason he will ever come back is if there is something he needs from you, which he cannot provide for himself; the better off you and yours will be.

The only way to get back to living is by killing the Hyena. He must become dead to you in order to see and accept the truth; the only truth there is of him. The one too many of us have come to know…

Ⓒjillterry


Lost in the façade

I told him once he was a praise whore, and thought he was going to cry. The look of hurt shown in his eyes nearly broke my heart.

But still, what I said was truth.

I tried to reach that part of him; beyond the shallows, into the depths, and for a moment successfully glimpsed. But it didn’t last long; nothing discussed apparently took. For he’s still just as shallow, if not more so; worrying what the rest of the world thinks; determining his human worth by the number of possessions he can acquire, the number of heads he can turn, and how many times he stands at center of attention.

Trying so very hard to impress; bragging as a child might, as if to say, “Look what I have and you don’t,” when of all the people in the whole of the world, he knows I’m the queen of modest living and that material possessions of any kind, simply do not impress.

I wouldn’t be on the receiving end of his karma for all the money in the world! And what strikes me as odd, is that after all this time and distance, why he goes out of his way, to make certain that I see?

He should ask himself that at night, when he lays his head on his designer pillow, next to his lunatic wife, convincing himself that he’s finally made it, and happiness he has found.

Ⓒjillterry


Ovation

She waits
Wonders
Pines
For love lost

Just as we
All did

The same
Love
The same
Lies
Differing his pain
His troubled past

To fit each
Woman
And circumstance

Depending
On what he
Needed
Or knew he could
Take from them

I offered up the
Group of support
Gathered in the
Wings
Patiently waiting
For her to
Walk off the
Stage

She isn’t yet
Ready
Still believing
He is
Who he
Says

Ⓒjillterry


The Hyena

It wasn’t his
Voice
Finally found
After fifty years
Of living
Dead

It was his
Imitation skills
Finely tuned
Honed
Down pat

Poetry, prose
Letters and
Madness
No original
Thought
Merely mimicking
Bukowski’s style

The scruples
Morals
By which he
Lives his
Life
Memorized passages
Dog-eared
Pages

Following
A script
Assuming a
Personal role
Worse than
Any
Fictional whore

Tinkering with
Lives
Pissing on
Souls
Watching emotionless
Counting the
Score

Take it off
The shelf
Read it once
More
Soulless bastard
Thinks he’s
Hank Chinaski

Ⓒjillterry


%d bloggers like this: