My first attempt at a slam poem... "Beating"

"beating"

I've lost sight of who 

you are—

your smile, your whisper

the way you breathe into

my ears,

the way you fondle my fingers like

a fucking fiddle

just a fucking memory fading

into the shadows of my

mind... these dark chambers where

I store useless information that I'll

never remember again...

do you really want to be stored there?

do you really want to be part of

something that has nothing to do with

everything I am?

Who the fuck are you?

I miss the way we used to be, 

the way THINGS used to be

when we used to be you and me

we talked like lovers and not like

ghosts at a sponsored pig roast, 

hosted by memories with drinks toasted to "what were" and "what could 

have been" but not even acknowledging 

"what will be of you and me”

Are we just memories tattooed

on your silent tongue? I’ve been straight, I’ve been

serious… suckin’ cock with my stuck

up bullshit

Fuck, I can’t even tell you how many

holes I’ve dug and am diggin’ with this pussy

lickin’, shit spittin’ tongue that’s

tickin’ like the tick-tick tock of

the click-clack clock of my bleeding heart that’s

beating.

Can you hear the sound, listen.

Really close your eyes and listen to

the vibrant stars as they glisten like

pop rocks sittin’ in saliva. Listen, to the sound

of brokenness as it weighs down a bleeding heart

Listen: can you hear it

beating? 

Can you hear it breaking, second after second

as your lies form fictional

fantasies in my futuristic mind

Listen, to the breaking

Listen.

thump-thump

thump-thump

thump-thump

thump-thump

it’s beating

a faded drum, droned on but

drowned out by

your one word responses

Do you really think I

can’t tell?

I can read you from cover to cover,

page to page, I was your lover for God’s sake:

I know something is up.

Listen.

My dreams are demented of

death and decapitation and decomposition

dwindling love and propositions

but do you often listen

to your heart

to your soul

to your mind?

to the beating

after beating

after beating

It’s fucking frustrating, be straight

with me. I stay up late listening to the

deafening walls speak fictional stories

of what has happened.

Where the fuck are you? 

Listen.

I’ve been here waiting for

reason for a week now

listening to the beating.