Insane senile Array(s)

Wed, 05/01/2013 - 22:32 -- Truely


United States
38° 35' 3.3504" N, 90° 21' 4.6872" W

Deep in the woods
Where nothing grows
Lies a burial,
Full of lies.
An arm tries its best
To protest
The way it got there,
But fails because the world shut her up.

A man and a woman
argue silently
In fear of acknowledgement. The
red nail polish of the hand drips,
counting time like never before.
On edge,
The man grabs his hair.
His wife’s lip were painted with remorse bright and spewing from the canvas of her face;
Disgust ran from her eyes, mixing with the red wood floor.

Her husband screams the truth in his daughters’ name.
His wife slaps him, but her violence is in vain
Because when the police came
He looked at her but shouted his name.
Now she’s crying
But he’s smiling
Because the conversation gets darker
With such a brilliance that
The declaration were exploding stars
Adding an abundance of light,
Blinding the culprit with her on glistening ambiguity.
The truth is pure Aquafina,
Confessions were already facts that were
Evident truths…
So his laugh is pure,
And her senile lips have gone mute as his smile
Goes Joker
Because he knows his world all too well.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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