more.bad.poetry

where awkward private thoughts become public knowledge.


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Difference of Opinion

I’m always reading between the lines,
Can’t see the forest for the trees.
Desperate for every little detail
that could be hidden in between.
While they stand and stare in awe
I finally stop and pause
Realizing that it was wasted time and
I’ve missed what almost was.

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Killing It.

“Well, well well. These are not the circumstances in which I wanted us to meet again, Philip my friend.” Her tone was steady and serious, but had a hint of amusement. “It’s not often that I’m caught by surprise.”

She snapped and pointed at the table. One of her men set a long, black case on the table; Philip had a good guess of what was inside. He had been on the other end of this situation and was well aware of the trouble he was in. But for now she still wore a smile to match high black heeled boots clicking across the floor. Swishing her long jacket and long hair to the side, she sat down across from him.

They stared at each other for a moment. “So,” she started, “is there anything you’d like to say to me?”

Philip shook his head.

“Should I even waste my time trying to figure out what the fuck happened with you?”

He shook his head again and looked down at the table. Blood ran down his face and formed pools on the knotted wood.

She turned to look at her men, and laughed. “This is kind of a one sided conversation! What on Earth have you done to poor Philip here? I told you to make a point, not scar him for life.”

She turned back around. “Philip, here’s the deal. I need to know what was in the case you threw off the bridge. I have a hunch…” All amusement drained from her face. Her voice was icy. “I have a hunch what was in that case did not, in fact, belong to you. I think you know that I know that it was a very important and expensive thing that you chucked off of the fucking bridge.”

Philip still looked down. More droplets, the pools should have been bigger. The wood was soaking up the blood, like a vampire. Like the fucking vampire that was sitting in front of him. He didn’t trust himself to meet her eyes.

She sighed as he said, timidly, “It wasn’t mine. It’s long gone. I threw it off-”

“I KNOW you threw it off the bridge. I KNOW it wasn’t yours. What I want to know is why.”

He slowly looked up to meet her eyes, blood running faster down his cheeks. Tapping her nails on the case on the table, he saw her eyes narrow. He knew she was losing patience. She looked like an angry pixie. How could someone so delicate be so monstrous?

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he choked out. Philip was relieved when she laughed but immediately tensed again when he saw her motion for her gun. He had always liked that Tussey custom .45; the ivory handles and flower engraving were delicate, but the sucker had power. It fit her perfectly. It fit in her hand perfectly. She released the safety and laid it on the table, pointing at him, finger tapping the handle.

There was an uncomfortable silence as they stared at each other.


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One Night in December

As soon as he opened the door he saw. He saw her left eye, blue and swollen; blood dripping from somewhere on her forehead and the perfect imprint of a hand across her windpipe. She was leaning against the doorway with her eyes closed. It had taken the last of her strength to climb the stairs to his apartment and ring the doorbell.

She opened her eyes and asked if she could come in. Moving aside, he tried to ask her questions but the words wouldn’t choke past his shock. She curled up on the couch and pulled a blanket over her lap. He notice that she rested her head on her arm, trying carefully not to bleed on his couch.

He stood and watched her for what seemed like an hour.

“What happened?” He heard his voice, shaking and timid. He had tried to sound calm and soothing. She looked up at him from the couch and held out her arms. Without a second thought he moved to hold her.

“Shh, shh. You’re safe. You’re safe with me,” he whispered over and over as he rocked her and she cried quietly into his shoulder. He pulled the blanket tighter around her and rested his head on hers. She hadn’t said a word and she hadn’t stopped crying.

Before they had broken up he held her all the time. He loved the way her small frame fit perfectly in his arms. He’d dated a lot of other women before, but he had never believed in love. When he met Caroline he realized what he’d been missing.

Their relationship had been strained. They could never seem to communicate and fought constantly over nothing. In return, though, he had someone who genuinely cared about him and made the world stop when they kissed. Since their breakup he’d thought less about the arguing and more about the things he missed: her things cluttering up his bathroom, laughing while they cooked together, the way his pillows smelled like her after she slept over. More often than not he’d woken up in the past months reaching to pull her to him only to grasp sheets and air. Sometimes he craved her so badly he began to think he was broken.

One night he’d caved in and contacted her in a moment of weakness. He asked for her friendship and she had reluctantly agreed. They’d had fun hanging out as friends. They played video games, watched movies, ate meals, went hiking. They did all of the things they had done as a couple without the physical intimacy.

He’d taken her out and after a glass of Chianti she’d admitted she still loved him. He hadn’t known what to say; he didn’t know what he wanted or how he felt. He had been enjoying her company without considering what it meant. She started to cry when after his silence he’d told her he wanted to be friends. He added that he still loved her too; whether he meant it or had said it to ease her pain wasn’t entirely clear to him. He disliked not being in control of his thoughts. He hated being overwhelmed by emotion. So after that night he’d made it a point to become distant and gradually her weekly phone calls didn’t come at all.

Holding her now, feeling her chest rise and fall with her breaths, he remembered what it felt like to feel connected to her. He wanted to know what had happened to her, why it had happened, the entire story and how and why she had ended up at his apartment. He wanted to know who had done it to her. He wanted to kill them.

After a minute she pulled away and sat up, wiping her face with the back of her hands. Managing a weak smile she said, “You should see the other guy.” She laughed. “Well, not really. I’m pretty weak. But upside, I should get some good painkillers!” More laughter. He thought she was too obviously trying to act normal.

He made what he hoped was a relaxed smile. “So….are you going to tell me what happened, or…” The sentence dragged into several moments of silence as he looked at her and she looked at the floor.

“It doesn’t matter, really,” she started. “I was with that guy I was telling you about – the one that lives in the city – and..and..” Her lip started to tremble. He waited as she suppressed tears and then continued. “It was such a typical thing. Wanted more than I wanted, and was angry when I tried to leave.” She fell silent and nervously threaded her fingers together and then apart. Scratched at some dried blood on her hand.

It was apparent that was the story in its entirety; or at least all she was going to tell him. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to call the police, he wanted to drive to the city and make that asshole bleed until he cried. He wanted to turn back time. He wanted to cry.

He settled for saying nothing and instead taking her hand to lead her to his bathroom. They were silent. He started the water and undressed her, and then himself. He guided her into the stall and then stepped in. Gently and slowly, he washed away the blood from her body and made her clean.


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Brain Purge

How could I have been so foolish?
I wanted to believe.
I guess I thought that words are words
And things are what they seem.
Slow and cold and long, alone
These last few weeks have been
It seemed worth it at the time
For the light there at the end.
But foolish me, a light, a light
As if it’s there I’d thrive.
Although the light is bright and warm
I will be burned alive.


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Sleeping Alone

Please don’t make me sleep alone
I’m so scared of the dark;
The way the shadows snake the walls
And settle on my heart.
I hate the extra space in bed,
I’m floating, lost at sea.
What I wouldn’t gild and give
For someone holding me.

Please don’t make me sleep alone
I’m frightened of the sound
Not the creaking of the house;
It’s the silence that’s too loud.