A body shot of silence
Sprayed in rapid-fire succession
Confessing to the darkness
Writing out past-life regressions
You spit and spat with rat tat tat
No feelings, no regrets
Killing for survival
Little darlings dance with death

Counting syllables and lines
Fill the page with pretty rhymes
Spoken words of yours and hers
Sleight of tongue, the truth you blur
A twain to mark the depth of reason
Taste for changes, bitter seasons
Waning summers, winter’s waste
Blind decisions made in haste

Continue writing…me and you…
The moments lost, we can’t undo
Becomes a test, too late, of sorts
Life compresses, time contorts
The best of three, fill in the blanks
A soul, a heart, a flowered dress
When all else fails, it’s best to guess
A consequence of context, yes?

Spoken wheels or spinning words
Tongues in conflict, split in thirds
Deaf ears failing, no one hears
Distance scheming, no one cares
Stretch our longings to extremes
Secret mischief, stealing dreams
Love’s an unrelenting thief
Just the facts; suspend belief

A letter for those lonely hearts
Train of thought lost at the start
Some words of comfort, pretty lies
Metaphors for pale blue skies
Shapes of things like future’s past
Waves of time not meant to last
Flash and flame for point and blame
A locket for your lover’s name

Now, once again, your devil’s dance
A single bullet, game of chance
There’s far too many, all in all
You line them up against the wall
And then smile, you hit delete
They disappear, the crime’s complete
The story flows; it’s better now
One too many words (a crowd)
Creates a page of mindless chatter
Canvas for the poems you splatter

It’s five to seven every day
You watch the clock, time slips away
Slave to words, your knees, they bleed
Gathered memories, wants, and needs
Books you write (bragging rights)
Graveyards full of days and nights
Scatter thoughts upon the page
Tombstones for your paper graves

In increments of mad contempt
The truth we write, we soon resent
A book of loss compared to what
In passages like paper cuts
We mix our blood with oil and mud
A drowning pool becomes a flood
You love them all, but can’t abide
As all your little darlings die

TM DiSarro
©2025 TM DiSarro/ MindScapes Publishing

From: THE MEMORY OF RAIN