the ugly writers

A Murder Of Reality

An unkindness in the lure a conspiracy craving more I cannot adapt, I’m sure! in this insanity I adore the murder of the flock the hands of the ticking clock I cannot tell if this is reality or if it’s…

A Murder of Reality

 

An unkindness in the lure
a conspiracy craving more
I cannot adapt, I’m sure!
in this insanity I adore
the murder of the flock
the hands of the ticking clock
I cannot tell if this is reality
or if it’s not
I hear a gunshot
in the distance of my thoughts
I search the wooded area around me
and conspire my next plot
am I human?
or am I not?
can I fly?
or am I wounded by the shot?
there’s a pool of blood beneath my feet
insanity take me not!
I’m hot!
I’m cold!
is that rain?
or is it snow?
the maze of emotions in my mind
will never let me go!
it shows through dreams
it shows through screams
there is not a single trace of sanity
left within my being
murder
unkindness
conspiracy
in a flock of thoughts
that completely control me
I am not a murderer
but in my mind
I completely kill off
every single memory
and every deafening thought
am I not sane?
am I not deranged?
am I not in pain, as I love in the rain?
changes
rages
places
pacing!
I cannot figure out
why I’m always shaking!
racing
waiting
confused by the awakening
that opened the doors
to my thoughts a raging!
wasting
complicating
demonstrating
madness can live
through ink on the pages
it always has
it always will
the murder of my unkindness
is a conspiracy, if you will
I am not thrilled by this
I’m scared
I am so happy
and aware
these are the thoughts of a poet
bashing his head
screaming the words he never said!
in his bed
at his desk
out in the darkness with his murder
of regrets
his murder of sense
that he left in the darkness
his murder of reality
that he left behind with his mess.

 

 

©️ 11/13/2019 by Jeff Oliver

 

All writing protected by copyright.

Credits: A group of ravens, (called an “unkindness” or “conspiracy”) photograph by Shane Lamb –(crows live in a group called a murder. Most people would call it a Flock of Crows. One could think of a murder of Crows to be the “poetic term”.

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Jeff Oliver
Jeff was born in Baltimore,Maryland in 1982 but was brought up in southern Pennsylvania. He now lives in western New York with his beautiful wife and soulmate, Jennie, who he credits as being his inspiration and reason to continue dreaming the dream he’s had since the age of 11; that of becoming a published author and presenting the square pegged into round holes of society with a voice that he hopes will meld with their own and speak to them from the depths of his soul.

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