Ace Of Black Hearts

(04/17/1984 / Homa Lousiana)

The Blood Is Still Not Mine


I'm not so incredible, I'm not even so remarkable.
An old wolf no long able to catch its prey.
A leader going grey.
But sure, okay, you feel like I'm the best thing you ever met.
But don't fret this is only a dream.
You'll wake up tomorrow and disconnect.
A clean reboot.
Understanding that in this land of make believe I can say anything I want to.
Loving a man of fiction.
What if I'm your sick and demented half sister?
Got to love the back end of a ruffled goose.
See with these words I can really do as I please.
Portraying a serial killer, and the hero that bends him to his knees.
Does evil or good ever win?
What does happen at the end?
Trying so hard to find the madness of reason.
Buying hope as a spice and season.
But the flavor doesn't make this meal anymore satisfying.
An empty desperate plea, please somebody love me.
But how could that ever be without the sense of touch.
An absence of so much.
I feel like a soulless demon that continuously crushes.
A factory of mashing.
The blood is always splashing.
And for some reason it is never mine.

Submitted: Saturday, May 18, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, September 11, 2013
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  • Poetheart Morgan (5/18/2013 11:24:00 PM)

    Dear ABH, this poem deserves another poem. A inspiration for me. I understand and i agree with your point of view. I know how is that. But there are so many secrets, is not Poet? (Report) Reply

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