Sad Empty Pathetic Lives

One from my private vault, and from two years ago (April 2017). Completely raw and untouched for April Poetry Month.

sad empty pathetic lives… what reruns they are

he’ll never have my love or respect again. he’ll never have my forgiveness and he’s never going to be worthy of my friendship.
but now, to get up and move again… i need to mend.

sometime in the years end
i need to mend
sometime in the years end
i’ll need a friend

you said you would never hurt me again
a weight off my shoulders
yet seven feet in…

sometime in the years end
i need to mend
sometime in the years end
i’ll cry again

behind those large blue eyes
a monster lurks
never a day that ends-
always at work

he said he would never hurt me again
he said he would never

i hate you
and no amount of time
will ever change that

you know what you are,
you know what you did
how would you think
i’d not wish you dead
how did you think
i’d not wish you dead

i need silence inside my head
but there’s violence inside your bed
how did you think i’d not wish you dead

sad empty pathetic lives… what monsters they are

lurking and lusting and
draining souls
i will never relinquish control
i was head deep in
before i could swim
i’m learning how to live again
i’m learning how to live

oh for a brief moment you made me believe
in a fairytale

(but you’re really a monster from hell, tell tell)

oh ye sloth
you were treated like a king
even out of cloth
and lying on your knee

one or two or a thousand
how many hearts now bleed?

i didn’t want to be her, i plead
but you’re still not listening
you have no heart, you see

oh, and good luck on the baby

what hurts most of all, i believed you
and the thing that hurts most is, you knew all along
you knew

this is cruel deception
you are evil incarnate
the dead, risen again
he has no soul

(might as well call me a widow, i’m mourning my soul
the death of my heart)

nocturnal mourning

every morning

i should have seen
all the warnings

hating you is the only way to get through, it’s the only way i will survive. but is it wrong to hate a monster?

© Delia Ross. 2019

Love Is Always On

It’s the age of constant distraction
Beauty defined by plastic fashion
Such savagery over the next caption
Going to extremes to prove an action
Hate on the menu for us to ration
One kiss you’ll learn he fakes the passion
His love is always on automation
An impeccable liar, the best in the nation
A list of broken souls should be confirmation of his vocation
He’s never been out of rotation
I hope death will be his next vacation

© Delia Ross. 2019

Ten After Sunset

Pain after sunset
denial and regret
It’s now ten after sunset
you haven’t admitted anything yet

Blame during sunrise
But never a tear in your eye
Aim for shock and surprise
It’s so much better when they cry

Shame morning and afternoon
You’ll catch him singing the same ole tune
Same lying up under the moon
He wasn’t born with a silver spoon

© Delia Ross. 2019

The Best Things In Life Aren’t Free

The best things in life aren’t free
But please don’t bother me
I changed the lock and key
It’s best if you now flee

He bled her clean
Filled images in her head
The young ones he will preen
And bleed them til they’re dead

The best things in life aren’t free, he said
With not even a look of dread
She knows it’s nothing she misread
His love trap is a deathbed
Miles and decades of lies widespread
But not an ounce of bloodshed

The worst things in life are free
And you’ll never remember me
I sat there clawing blindly
In the forest at the wrong tree
Because the worst things in life
Always seem to follow me

© Delia Ross. 2019

The Serpent

Monster’s exist
Inside you
Inside those cold blues
What’s next on your checklist
Like a serpent you untwist
Unclinch your fists
You add no value
You’ve been dismissed
No point in an argue
And still you hissed
You are not part of my crew
I’m pissed we kissed
I need my time to regroup
So this is it
No more curses to spew
It’s time you quit
Your life is under review

© Delia Ross. 2019

Picture of a Picture

PICTURE OF A PICTURE by @poeeternal

I have a picture of a picture
It was clear I wasn’t stricter
I have a picture of her picture
He’d still be here if I were richer
It won’t be long & he will ditch her
She’ll have a picture of his picture
Bury her head deep into the scripture
Dreams will cease she’ll be a wisher
With just a picture of their picture
He’s nothing but an old gold digger
I’ve got my finger on the trigger
A heavy hitter he’s a sinner
You better burn his fucking picture
I can hear his fanbase snicker
While they drown away in liquor
And wish they owned these fucking pictures
Maybe I’ll post them all on Twitter
It’s something maybe I’ll consider
When I’m feeling a bit less bitter

© Delia Ross. 2019