Richard Hovelsrud

I am possessed by her cold vision,
Her lips sing beautiful words that I know will never be true,
But the lies make it seem real,
When her eyes turn blue.
...

I am seeing things that are not there; I hear my name whispered softly in the night air,
I feel a presence in this house, it follows me everywhere,
I hear strange noises in the attic, do I dare?
...

An old friend with a bad influence,
You know the type, its fun at first but then you realize that you are on a dead end road to nowhere, as my Step-Father use to say.
Oxy never judged me, was always there to take the edge off, my problems were never gone, but the burden was lifted for a while, oh oxy what a deviously wonderful quick fix you were.
But after a while oxy, I began to notice that if I didn’t have you every day, I wasn’t the same. Not as confident to step up to the daily challenges that use to be so routine, so quick to an excuse to ditch school and work to be with you. I surrounded myself with friends whose life revolved around you just as much.
...

A fictional autobiography,
A self-manufactured faith,
I open God’s prose to a chapter that nobody knows.
A hypothetical premise,
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Shattered remnants of broken promises that were untrue,
My heart is dead, but my mind is alive.
Dead men wrote this lies, scraped it together,
And called it Divine.
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Her favorite color was Green,
Until she turned 17,
Then she cursed her skin with Red.
Random patterns of lines to others,
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They say confessional poetry is repressed sexuality, I believe it don’t you? I’m a man who puts sanctions on his mind, and chains around my soul, wall surrounding my own heart.
It has been so long since my bare skin has felt the bare skin of a girl, so long, that I do not want to even begin to imagine when,
Was the last time I locked lips with a girl, held her hand, or stroked her willing hair with my eager hands,
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Why is sin free?
You murder my fantasy, and it kills me,
When you try to rise above me!
It is easy to hear silence in darkness,
...