concrete floors

Published on October 22, 2008 By Johnny Masuda In Poetry

one night in a blizzard of snow and madness

in a little Indiana town lost to the interstate

Christopher cut his palms with a butcher knife

and worked through the night painting his heart

in broad strokes

swearing in ten second breaths at what a slut

she could be he’d leave his mark dripping on canvas

then sobbing he’d cry out his love for the slut that

ate his heart

her cannibal ways left him crippled with only

ten fingers and ten toes and nothing to pump

the soul back to life

he screams to the gods the injustice and cries into the darkness

the pain that only comes with the mad love of an insane

artist determined to be remembered for sleeping on

concrete floors in forgotten basements.

Comments

on May 21, 2009

Johnny's bleedin' all over the internet with his poetry. Aren't we lucky we bare witness?

Bob

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