Bones

[CoverTheSun]

It hurts,
Deep in my belly, it pains.
In the pits on my chest, constricting.
Im like a dead man walking, with the exception of the pain,
It follows me like my shadow.
Its a part of me.

I call him bones, because that’s where you find him,
Deeper than flesh, in my bones.
He is me and I am him, though I am more his puppet.
He is the master and his clever skeletal fingers,
Manipulate the strings.

He doesn’t want to leave,
Maybe he’s lonely; like me
Maybe he wants to belong to something,
To someone, and to be needed.

I can smell him, his scent,
In my hair, on my clothes, the scent of apathy,
The scent of numb fruitless existence.
The smell of hopelessness

He is white; bone white
Like a skeleton
He is encased in robes, sometimes scarlet, sometimes black,
They wrap themselves around me too
And we become as one, his long fingers press into my shoulders
And his breath blows lightly on the concave of my cheek

He hurts me, like a deep bone numbing pain,
Deep down, where razors cannot cut and surgeons cannot operate
I used to be scared, but now, when he comes I welcome him
His presence is like a pool of warm bathwater caressing my body

You have to understand, I'm not crazy, I'm just tired,
Tired of fighting, I have nothing left to offer.
I'm too scared to let go of him, to release that hold on me and in my bones.
I'm scared,
Because he’s all I can count on, without him, I'm faceless
Dead, numb, just existing, and the pain,
It makes me feel alive.

[cafolini]

Well, one last fight. You are telling us. What for? Actually, this is very good. It is the reality of many people, but they never tell it.

[Jack of Hearts]

There's something creepy working here. The concept of an unwelcome companion is presented effectively.

Because it's being told from the first person, the narrator has to be considered a central element of this. One question this reader asked himself is what sort of person is saying this? At parts it reads too much like the author appealing to us rather than an individual expressing anything in earnest.

There are some really effective things going on here though, especially how you describe feeling 'bones's presence, smelling him, etc. There's something immensely unsettling about that.






J

[hillwalker]

It reads like a confession of sorts - the narrator admitting he has some incurable condition that he's grown accustomed to and is at peace with. Definitely one of the more original pieces posted on here in recent months - and unsettling.

H

[CoverTheSun]

Thank you, yes jack I see what you mean, at some points towards the end it kinda loses something. Hill, yeah, that exactly what I was trying to potray

[Revolte]

"He is encased in robes, sometimes scarlet, sometimes black,
They wrap themselves around me too
And we become as one, his long fingers press into my shoulders
And his breath blows lightly on the concave of my cheek"

That right there drew me in. I loved the image I got from this.

[Bar22do]

First, the pain invades one's entire self and life, it rules one; and then, the relation becomes a necessity, the victim needs the persecutor, for, after all, what else if left there... well expressed CtheS, though in my humble opinion, you could tighten your poem a bit. Thanks for sharing, Bar