Friday, February 11, 2011

My first attempt at a slam poem... "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

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

Can you hear it breaking, second after second
as your lies form fictional
fantasies in my futuristic mind
Listen, to the breaking


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.


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? 


I’ve been here waiting for
reason for a week now
listening to the beating.