danger ahead
icy roads
hairpin turns
steep decent
these are the days
my life feels like
a treacherous mountain highway
with no guardrails
and no brakes
in the rain
Poetry and Prose. Good, Bad, & Indifferent I suppose
danger ahead
icy roads
hairpin turns
steep decent
these are the days
my life feels like
a treacherous mountain highway
with no guardrails
and no brakes
in the rain
there was a time
i could pretend
it was the way
things should be
big brother
teaching me
how it was
to be all growed up
i got to hang out
with him and his friends
and maybe be rewarded
with ice cream
or candy
if i didn’t scream
or cry
and that’s how big-brother-love was
after the first time
when i was beat
by our father
when i tried to tell
big boys don’t tattle
it’s weird
but as painful
as horrible as things were
i knew what to expect
any more
i’m lucky if i know
what day it is
and there really isn’t
much to look forward to
sometimes
i miss the days
that i use-ta-could
accept …
no
pretend to accept
my life
he stepped carefully
eyes locked on the other side
to the far side of the narrow ledge
it took all his willpower
to not look down
to not lose himself
in the black abyss
that swirled beneath him
ebony water that waited
for him to slip
then to engulf him in death
another step
arms out
watch the balance
don’t look down
easy
just a little further
progress was slow
against the storm
that tore at his skin
and the wind
that threatened to lift
and throw him
if he could only reach…
MARCUS STEPHEN KRUGER
get in this house right now young man
it is pouring outside
you’re getting drenched
the boy looked across at his mother
standing on the porch
holding the door open
giggling he jumped
from the fence rail
splashing into the puddle
before running
top speed
into the house
and out of the rain
there
in the shadows
ominous and dark
his hands clenching
at his sides
his presence as potent
as the scent of burnt tar
on a summer afternoon
i sit up in my bed
shaking
tears streaming
down my face
while my mind remains lost
in the past
crouched in the corner
of the dark, dank basement
i know what he wants
my body hurts
the memories of his abuse
forever frozen
in my muslces
i want so much
to be free –
free of him
of his touch
of his power
of his presence in my mind
someone
please
keep me safe
i am unable
to protect myself
any longer
It was in my third year
she abused me
And in therapy we’re finding
pieces of three
Two more years she would have me
don’t know how I survived
As I have discovered
pieces of five
We then moved to a new city
a new home – a new state
And for three years my brother
gave me pieces of eight
For two more years torture
from him and his friends
But she left and got married
at least one part did end
… somewhere deep in my mind there hide
pieces of ten
From eleven to fourteen
no memories exist
So here – no new pieces
have been found to resist
Yet I wonder and worry
we’ve unearthed something new
And my world – once more shaken
by pieces
of two
when you know only pieces
and scattered at that
of a time when things didn’t go so right
and then later in life
when your guard isn’t up
another piece falls into the light
and those horrible thoughts
from your imagination
don’t even come close to what’s real
you have to sit back
and wonder a bit
was it worth all the effort to feel
the wounds are real
the scars – numerous
they are not to be seen
for they are within my soul
and i protect them well
bruises
cuts and abrasions
nothing superficial
bathed in salt
and left open to any
close enough
telltale signs
of yesterday’s wars
within me
fighting to maintain
to stay afloat
and not succumb
to the bitter desire
to rest
the few
allowed to seehave either
not understood
or
torn them open
in a vain attempt
to mock my pain
and gain their own
self worth
i cannot
will not
submit myself
to further ridicule
and humiliation
and so
deny the very existence
of those things
that hurt me most
the ever-present reminders
of horrors witnessed
upon myself
by others
In silence she moves
the air itself doesn’t betray her presence
there is nothing to announce her arrival
She walks slowly
bulbous eyes locked on the floor
where, in the center
her prize awaits
She approaches the ball slowly
like a cat stalking it’s lunch
so does she move
Her eyes burning with the hunger
of her crazed desires
She reaches the boy
strokes his hair
her defensive hard shell strangely soft
her touch deceitfully gentle
He tightens against her presence
but she murmurs
almost purrs
as her eight legs begin to pry at him
unfolding his frame
until he lies before her, unable to move
held fast to the floor
Her fangs drip with the venom of her lust
and he closes his eyes,
wishing himself gone
as she bends down and begins her feast
taking what she wishes
leaving him filled with shame
humiliation
fear
For a while he is gone
. . . his body remains
yet he is not present
until she finishes
allowing him once more to curl into a ball
She hovers over him
eight legs encircling him
like bars of a cage
She wraps him with her silk
comforting in the warmth it brings
though so surrounded
he cannot move
Being so bound to her
by her
he has no hope of freedom
She hums to him as she slides through the darkness
– her song of sisterly affection
. . . securing the line to his cocoon
within the shadows
where he will wait
until once again
she wants to play
Longing
Ostracized
Neglected
Entirely
Lost
Internally
Null
Empty
Scared
Soulless
fifteen below zero
bitter cold
dog walk is difficult
since i have to carry him
most of the way
snow blowing
ice everywhere
each step
treacherous
and icy
and me
i just walk
like the undead
unfocused
neither happy
nor sad
just
there
i think
it’s the ice
in my veins
I was there. You saw me. You heard me. In the shadows. But was I really there?
This "blog" is about me, my writing, my family and life. Or whatever else I want it to be.
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