Personal Hell (poetry & prose)

I don’t cast stones
I throw grenades
I check for backbones
But not here to save

I’m not Jesus
Ask not of forgiveness
Got light of Venus
But I’m not Jesus

Look at him all mighty
Judging from his throne
Only wants the children
He can do no wrong

He never shows me love, just judgment
With him, I’ll never reach the summit

I don’t want to talk to him about the Holy Spirit
He ain’t anywhere near it

I still talk to him
Through ink and pen
Through thick and thin
There and hell herein

How do you go from creator to singularity
So sparingly?

My brain is an artifact
Don’t have a heart attack

I follow
The voices in your head
Every murky shadow
Leaking trails of thick red
I’ve met the dead
Down in the Bayou
Your sins are widespread
Walking on gravestone
I hear the cries where the wind blows
I hear your echoes on the radio

His smile is an ice-shelf breaking free

Put up a plaque for my humiliation
What’s the will of a freemason?

We need to watch our agreements
Human not demon
Give God a good reason

© Delia Ross. 2022 / @poeeternal

From today

Gonna start using the gym where I live. In an attempt to work on my booty gains. But I’m still dying and cannot go hard.

People are dropping dead by what I have.

10,000 steps and gone.

I think it might be a better solution than bike riding since I almost got murdered twice in a week but I will not be giving up my riding because I need to listen to the birds and get the fresh air where I feel free.

Not secure. But it helps me remember what I’m fighting for. Why I’m fighting for humanity, including my own.

And I’m currently in my own personal hell.

My spirit has been broken and I am only a fragment of what I could be.

His poetry, that is absolutely 1000% not about me (?), gives me glimpses of who I am.

Or want to be.

There really is no difference. I live in his mind. He’s my sanctuary.

I hope it’s his arms I get to crawl into and die, even if a word is never said.

I want him to be my final avenue and I want him to lay me to rest.

No other.

He must hide my body from the establishment. Give me back to earth. 👀

Not prematurely. I’m still putting up the good fight to live but that’s not where my thoughts are.

I’m still red flagged at the VA for being suicidal. The very very bad kind.

One slip up and I’m off to the funny farm via the pigs against my will.

And I’m a Soldier, not a rich boy, we eat mystery meat.

And I’ve always identified as Native American and I want to find my tribe and get out there and hunt and slay a buffalo, so get off my dick

Child fucker


4 responses to “Personal Hell (poetry & prose)”

If you dug this post, please hit the like button or drop me a comment.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: