- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Apathy
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I can feel it coming.
Like an embalmer draining the cold blood
from a corpse two days dead.
It doesn’t spill.
It doesn’t flow.
It seeps and crawls
out of flesh bag
to fill a plastic sHell.
I don’t want to smile.
It’s the folds of fat
of a rapist.
Suffocating me.
sMothering me.
Telling me
not to cry.
Not to care.
I forgot how to cry.
It’s the sWord and the bible
of the holy warrior.
Tired of thumping.
Tired of fighting
the god-damned good fight.
Dropping to his knees
To get his head chopped off.
I’m not even angry
One more girl hung
One more man shot
One more baby cooked
after being left on the apartment’s radiator
by people who were supposed to care.
I can’t care anymore.
- COMMENTS
irishcatsmeowover 19 years agoin this poem are so powerful. Maybe not images we want to see, perhaps, but ones that make their point and get us to think and feel...which is kinda the exact opposite of being apathetic... but it's what a good poem should do.
