I feel I have become
Some kind of figment
A ghost
The torturous screams
Of the terminal
Skid row victims
Captured and brutalized for
Unpaid debts
⋆⭒𓆟⋆｡˚𖦹𓆜✩⋆
Imprisoned by sharks
With rotting teeth
Swirling in a heavy pool
Permeated with gin stink
Coalesced into a miasma
Of wandering grief
⋆⭒𓆟⋆｡˚𖦹𓆜✩⋆
With unchecked hunger
Set upon the world
To give it a scapegoat
Worthy of its crimes
Against those without
The strength to lift a dime
⋆⭒𓆟⋆｡˚𖦹𓆜✩⋆
A face without a name
I burned my name
Along with every worldly
Possession to erase
The disease that
Was infecting me
Before splashing into
The boiling sea
⋆⭒𓆟⋆｡˚𖦹𓆜✩⋆
Now I swim the
Briney deep searching
For trinkets and names
To string along with
My pearls of wisdom
And nuggets of truth like
“Hope Floats”
And
“Secrets are buried like treasure in the hearts of men”
So I claw and dig for them
K.B. Silver
About the Creator
K.B. Silver
K.B. Silver has poems published in magazine Wishbone Words, and lit journals: Sheepshead Review, New Note Poetry, Twisted Vine, Avant Appa[achia, Plants and Poetry, recordings in Stanza Cannon, and pieces in Wingless Dreamer anthologies.
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CH 20~ Party Down
Argento’s ninth (eighteenth in earth years) Birthday came and went Thursday, the thirteenth, and he’d already received his father’s gift, if you could call it that. You had to commit a fairly serious infraction to be cut off; the Arch-Baron was keeping up appearances and maintaining his own reputation as much as any sense of love or attachment to Argento with his “gift.”
By K.B. Silver Exclusive • 9 days ago
Comments (1)
Very Davey Jones, and love the image, I could imagine this in Gore Vibinski and Johnny Depp's "Rogues Gallery"