TheKillerClimax

Depression

All I can see when I smile
is the underlying sadness in my eyes.
It seeps out in vast waves of tears,
and when I open my mouth —
I hear the cries of Depression
as it rattles in it’s cage that I’ve —
stored in my heart.

(Source: thekillerclimax)

Electricity (working title/Rough work)

One touch
is like a jolt of electricity.
You burn my fingertips.

It’s like when a child
puts their hand on a hot burner,
too stunned to let go.
You stun me.

The burn moves from fingertips,
to my palm.
I can’t let go.
My heart is singed.

I have scars from
touching certain people.

But I can’t let go.
Please scar me some more.

(Source: thekillerclimax)

Untitled (rough)

She watched the world she loved
S
   L
      I
         P
                    Away.

Once vibrant colours turned
to only blacks and grays.
Smiles became masks, and
laughs, hysterical cries.

Her pockets felt
full of stones.
Her shoes felt
made of Lead.

She carried the weight
into the water.
Felt the sand brush her face.

Why stay on the surface,
when she already couldn’t breathe?

She watched as the world she loved
S
   L
      I
         P           
            P
               E
                  D
                       Away.

(Source: thekillerclimax)

Untitled. (very rough)

It is not blood
that pumps through this
heart— but,
Lead.

It is not cold,
or frozen in place. But
hard and metallic in nature.

Lead pumps through
my veins.
it’s heavy,
it’s weight is my anchor.

And—
In the water I am beautiful.

Just a blurb of rough/unfinished work.

(Source: thekillerclimax)

Cold Front (rough)

Wind of ice
pricks at my spine;
my heart is frozen,
my brain cannot connect.

my lungs cannot take
the thin air —
I’m choking on
Your cold front.

    *****

The Queen of Winter
exhales.
sending down tender
flakes of snow.

They cover my frozen flesh,
like a blanket of warmth.
They are what your breathe felt like
on my skin. Like
the warmth that fills my heart.

Where have you gone?
I’m cold.

(Source: thekillerclimax)

Finger Print (rough)

These trampled grounds, I
used to walks, briskly —
I never noted
the different grooves,
the foot prints that had fallen before.

I never saw the crazy flowers,
the tangled mess of
dandelions that weaved the floor
and yet —

I swore I knew this path
like that of my own hand;
but I couldn’t tell you,
my own finger print pattern.

I walked blindly,
eyes open —
mind closed —
I was like the heard
the sheep dog chanced.
too simple minded
to choose my own way.

I never noted
the foot prints that had fallen before.

I swore I knew this path
like that of my own hand;
but I couldn’t tell you,
my own finger print pattern.

(Source: thekillerclimax)

Untitled (Rough)

This place,
retains the feelings
that make my heart break,
that my brain always fails
to explain.

A four walled room,
more a box or a cage
filled with a lions quiet rage.

I see the marks on the walls
the visible anguish
of my poor heart.
A bloody smear from my hand —
a dent black and blue.

It’s insulation
is no shield to my scream
all the warmth flees
tears are like the cold kiss
of my frosted window.

It’s winter now
and like the cold air
chills me to the bone…

Will it chill my barely beating heart?

(Source: thekillerclimax)

Moon (rough work)

look to the moon
She says, She says
quickly now
for the time has come and gone.

lay with me
She says, She says
watch the stars
as time creeps on.

hold me
She says, She says
i am cold
and your arms are my blanket.

look to the moon
She says, She says
quickly now
for the time has come and gone.

    **************  

i run to my swing
and swing, and swing
but the world
won’t drift silently on.

nothing changes —
You are still gone.
And I think to look to the moon
no more, no more.

(Source: thekillerclimax)

Weeds

I used to think—
of all the ways to write your face.
I’d try to explain
how such beauty
was gifted with grace.

Like how water lilies float
up a stream;
only stopping when caught
by the devils
thorny weeds.

Your hearts fatal beats
steady my pace
allowing nothing — but
My heart to race.
delicate passion
stroke a match—

Once heaven; now hell
is no patch,
further endeavours are
often in shame.
for heaven is no such
glorious gain.

so into the fire—
the brinks of hell,
for your soft touch
was just too hard to
repel.

(Source: thekillerclimax)

The Secret Fairy Tale

It was called Silent Lake—
but there was nothing silent about it.
kids jumping in the lake off of a floating raft
and adults off the high rock cliffs.
and I sat on the beach with my dad.

“kiddo you don’t want to go swim?”
I remember he would say—
My answer was always nope.

so instead of swimming with the other kids
I enjoyed the beach.
I’d lay on my towel be side my dad,
wiggling my toes in the sand.

We’d build sand castles and play—
He the evil kraken from the silent sea,
I the helpless princess hiding in the castle—
always waiting for the prince to come save me;
My dad played him too.

“You hungry Becky-boo?” he would ask—
every day around five o’clock—
to this I always gave a grin and a nod.
He’d loom over the fire making me spider dogs,
and again my price would save me—
from the evil spiders, slaying them, leaving them covered in blood.
My favourite condiment of all.
Ketchup!

Hiking up hill sides,
Going for rides in the canoe
Fishing and watching the stars—
all of these things me and
My daddy would do.

However best of all
if I was a good girl
the whole day through
He would present to me
a gift or two.

A golden marshmallow,
the knight the dragon had slain,
bleeding chocolate my father would say
buried by his king between two golden seals.
that’s how a s’more was made—
In mine and my daddy’s
Secret fairy tale.

(Source: thekillerclimax)