Four Poems for units two and three.

Everything is bad. Once it was good, but you’ll never remember it now. Not now, now that it’s bad. Now that it’s bad, that tender kiss goodnight that once wished “sweet dreams” blisters the skin; Now that it’s bad the gentle, smooth, warm hand that ran splayed fingers through the hair, catches and cuts like a cold razor. Now that’ it’s cold, eyes that once locked to tell stories in love, now linger only to tell tales of betrayal and rage. Now that its rage, butterflies in the pits of tummies catch fire and float like burnt photographs to the depths. Now that it’s burnt, its scared, and there is no healing it; no cure to make it good; it’s terminal, destined to die, it’s stumbling but it’s dead. Now that it’s dead, it still stalks you at night, crawling slowly into bed with you; a green, rotting memory, leaving a cold, shallow indent in the pillow as your only bedfellow. Now that it’s bad, you are bad, and I’m bad too, there is no way to be good. You are bad. Please God, just let this bad, cold, dead thing. Die.





These hands that once touched your face and brushed your lips. These hands that ran splayed fingers through your hair and brushed tears from your cheek. These hands that once held you, and nursed your children. These hands that loved you and pulled you against me; these hands are now against you. These hands are now clasped tight, to call gods to witness how you have harmed them. These hands cry out for your blood. Wringing together, praying for you to suffer as they have. These hands plead for the chance to hurt you. These hands that once loved you, now ask for your death.



Unit three

Hush my sweetheart, don’t say a word,
You can’t tell a lie I haven’t heard.


Hush little darling, don’t speak a thing,
I can’t stand the tales you sing.


And you trample dreams to dust,
You can’t ask me for my trust.


As now you’ve traded love for lust,
Our wedding rings can turn to dust.


So hush little baby, and take your guilt,
‘Cause I can’t hear this lie you’ve built.








Whispered words of romance were a pocket full of lies,
As guilt and lustful shadows dance in your eyes.


And if your tales are spoken, my hate they’ll only bring;
All your lies have turned our love into a twisted thing.