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Last Reviewed: 1/25/15
BarracudaI have heard mistaken minds
say if you offer her your hand,
Blue in kind will bring no harm.
I have come to tell you this is false.
Listen closely now, my friend:
Blue is sharper, longer, leaner,
than Red on Red’s best day.
She will take your albatross
and slit it open in the night.
Blue is dressed to a fine point:
silk sleeves and noble crest,
predator-sleek with azure-spine.
She dares and she is tempting, I admit,
but you have not known Blue as I.
Blue can cut.
She can sting.
She can weave and dance and cut again,
and when she has finished
she is deathly still.
Blue feels no remorse;
she won’t reflect as you or I.
She drops and flows
and darts and thrusts
and when you go to grasp her
she has slipped and sliced your palm.
Take heed, my anxious friend,
you are her prey of choice.
She hides within the sun.
You take her in, you think you’ve won,
but venomous and silent
she dissolves inside your depths,
S.A.D.I have made an industry
of separating skin,
peeling back the paper
to the sticky redness underneath,
watching droplets spill
like pomegranate seeds.
and my prison winds itself
around my thighs,
chrysanthemums and carnations
blossoming on my hips:
this burgeoning disease
that makes my body its home
for a fourth of every year.
7.34mmA simple measurement
can make a man
lose himself; a blurring, no more
than a grainy smudge
a scant 7.34mm long
this rice-grain, seven weeks old
with one hundred and twenty nine
heartbeats per minute
all this, from a mere sesame-seed of a heart
Sooner or later.Once upon a time, I breathed in innocence and exhaled simplicity. I remember it fondly.
I remember my favorite grass-stained overalls with the light blue butterfly embroidered on the pocket, my bare feet on the damp grass, the feeling of the wind, it tasted like sweet perfection, flying through every single strand of hair on my head as I chased the fireflies that danced in the evening air. I remember the old, rusty swing sets, and how if I got up in the air high enough I could touch the exact place in the cloudless sky where the earth itself curved, though no one ever believed it. Back then, I remember laughing every second just because there was once a time where optimism wasn't a challenge. Back when real friends weren't an endangered species, but a bubbling well, filled to the rim; when family was a single unit, not split into shards; when the biggest worry I had was people stealing my favorite scarlet-colored crayon after I dashed to the potty. Simple.
The Shadow ManLies emit from your mouth like clouds rolling across the sky, leaving a trail of tear soaked land behind them. The destruction and damage you've caused is nothing compared to the anguish you've made me feel. Yet still, you dance upon the hilltops, calling out to the moon like a blood thirsty hound.
You're the bartender in sleazy pubs, offering people more and more of their own demise for a fixed price. Of course you have to make a profit out of it; otherwise it wouldn't be half as fun. Your face is distorted beyond recognition as you offer someone another cigarette. To your delight, they accept, and you grin with mirth as they smoke away their souls.
You're the taxman on a drizzly afternoon, walking up and down the cobblestone streets, searching for anything you can suck dry. Knocking away on the pensioner's door, you bite the hand that feeds you. Enough is never what it seems, as your bloated pockets make room for more. They've already stopped using their heat and water, th