Category Archives: Poetry

I’ll Make My Bed and Sleep in it Alone

I’m out on the veranda
Smoking my last cigarette
Watching the smoke curl around the moon
Being “thankful” that we met

Since you’re coming home
The liquor’s going down the sink
Gotta say goodbye to my old friends
Say goodbye to the drink

Life was going great for me
Now I guess I’ll be just fine
Since you talked with Ma and Pa
They tell me you’re so kind

Why do you
Make me feel so blue
Why do I feel so sad
I should be flying to the moon
‘Cause someone actually came back

Sunday will come, Sunday class
You’ll twirl me around like a ball
I’ll smile, I’ll wave, I won’t misbehave
I’ll be too damn done to fight being a doll

You’re gonna burn all my books
You’re gonna toss out my wires
You’ll kiss my forehead
Your “love” will take me higher

Old friends’ll reach out
“He’s not good for your health!”
Oh, but you’ll dust me off, pretty me up
And set me on a shelf

But why do you
Make me feel blue
Why am I so fucking sad
No one’s ever forgiven me
After I was so bitter and mad
And I’m supposed to feel better
You’re gonna make me so glad
But why am I just looking to escape
Run and try to erase those faces
You show me in private places and chase…
That ache out of me that
Loves that you came back

But why did it have to be you that came back?

I take to the kitchen
Smoking a damn cigarette
Watching the smoke curl around the room
I pour a shot of Jack
You can bet
I don’t want you

You’re an ass

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DTP 10: My Dear Humanity, I Knew Her Well

Heart, pumping in my hands–
What were you before?
Did you leave a happy life?
Did you always strive for more?
Did you yearn and did you pull
If something really caught your eye?
Did you sacrifice with good intentions?
Did you rightly vilify?
Did you rend and did you tear?
Did you bend? Did you bear?
Did you wake in the middle of the night,
Blind, sweating, filled with utmost care?
Did you weep?
Did you creep?
Did you seap?
Did you sleep?
I guess it doesn’t matter, you–
Heart, pumping in my hands–
You pour, you leak, and you spatter.
Time won’t heal wounds wrought by these hands–
Not anymore.
I said:
“It doesn’t matter.”

Downtown Platinum (c)2017 Karin Mayville 
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DTP 8: Locke Weeps for Circles

Freedom:
Financial independence.
Warranted doubt, worry
Giving way to boredom–
Boredom giving way to curiosity–
Curiosity morphing into cruel, risky fascination…
Such is how it goes
When power corrupts discreetly
And renders one
Completely, irrevocably
Free.

Downtown Platinum (c)2017 Karin Mayville 
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DTP 7: Jin, Circle Cannibal

Hello Heroes, dearly lauded.
Your narrow escapes should be applauded.
I know what this must look like
But I have the best intentions in mind
If you’ll permit me in kind…
“Caerwyn Jethro Adams”, my oh my–
Your name was too hard to come by.
Oh, but don’t look so surprised–
Killer The Gossip as much surmised,
And both of you are too easily recognised.
A dazzlingly dashing, disenfranchised beau
Balen Russell–or is it “Dante Castiago”?
And the factual, frank, feminine mystery
Caera Adams with, my… What a history.
How in the world did you two meet?
Both coveted, both unaware, both so…
Tantalizingly sweet.
Candidly, I have a proposition
To rectify your decidedly awkward position.
You join me, you’ll avoid any future fight.
Ha! That look of mistrust! Not to worry, loves.
I promise I won’t bite.

Downtown Platinum (c)2017 Karin Mayville 
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DTP 6: Promises

Angels are ugly, kind creatures as
Demons are beautiful, cunning things.
Eyes glinting, windows tinted
Your bronze skin, golden hair–
You weren’t so damned misleading

My hand closed around your quarry’s
And we shot out the bar like, well
The bullet that splashed indescribable
Textures onto my sanctuary’s walls–
I was never under your spell

Collapsing into some kind of vacuum
We debated about your existence.
“What in the actual fuck?”
Was the decided ultimate question–
We settled on action: only resistance.

Killer J, is it pride or is it boredom?
You’ve all the privilege in the world
But you waste your precious time
Chasing bartenders and dead celebrities–
Huddled, crouched, hearts nearly cored.

Who will really have the last word?
If you think you can just corner me, re-think.
You won’t be sleeping sweetly.
You may think you have some claim–
But I don’t bite and tear and rip apart gently.

Downtown Platinum (c)2017 Karin Mayville 
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DTP 5: Game of Hearts

I don’t have anything left to give you
To throw away
The things I gave you before were
My last mistakes
I wonder sometimes what life would be like
If I hadn’t met you
But I know now I am stronger
My scarred heart is beating proof

But the time to crawl back
And apologize
Has gone and past and I
Just realised that

Life as you know it is over
But mine is
Just getting started
You were broken after I left
But I was healing before we parted
And while you already folding your hand in shame
I’m pushing my chips in to bluff my way
Through this
Love game

Sometimes I think back on our time together
Sometimes I get chills when I remember
You always said, “I’ll be by your side forever
“Forever and ever and ever–”
Hey, how about never ever ever again?

Life as you know it is over
But mine is
Just getting started
You were broken after I left
But I was healing before we parted
And while I suppose you don’t deserve
All the blame
You’re still not the person
I wanted to claim
Through this
Love game

Downtown Platinum (c)2017 Karin Mayville 
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DTP 4: My First 29th Birthday

I thought all a night’s tender sighs
Were the lights going dim and dry
The way you tip a candle back
And the wick wets with it’s own wax

Dripping red onto the fancy carpet
You cut into my heart just to mark it
And when the bill came by our table
You looked at me and like in a fable
You asked through artery, “Got that?”
I tried to speak… but blood just spat
I love you,” you had said,
You’re All That Matters…
By the way,” you had said,
I’m screwing Nora Mathers.
Cheesecake with a pureed heart head
I glanced at the bill, the cake, the heart, then said:
“You couldn’t wait… ”
You blinked, confused
“… until after my birthday?”
You looked so confused
I suppose I shouldn’t’ve been surprised
The candle wasn’t tipped in another life
But now, the wax ran down, wet the wick
Our flame had guttered out all too quick
I knew then I was just another chore
I licked my lips and set down my fork
Like quiet, rolling thunder, I bid time
Then struck out lightning quick on the dime
Your cheek was as red as strawberry puree
Lip trembled, but I managed to state, “Pay.”
You reached in your pocket hammer space
Jesus,” you said, irate.
“Happy-freaking-Birthday, okay?”

Downtown Platinum (c)2017 Karin Mayville 
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