PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There's a pain in my head
throbbing behind my beautiful eyes
(how vain, I know, but they are the only thing I like)
but I am smiling,
I am,
because she didn't see me cry.

My mother,
that twit with the college degree
that is her lifeline
(it seems).
She used to split cells,
but now she splits me.

My knee is still screaming
(bloody murder, I might add)
rubbed raw after the
fall
to the carpet
by that newspaper ad

that shouted in a bold
that left the other words drowning,
fading,
into the background:
"Freedom Is Gone
5 Hours And Counting!"

After all of this shit
you are still in my head:
ache
-ing brain.
Poor thing only needs a rest.
maybe I'll take a nap beneath the rose bed.

Wow, another hour wasted
by surfing the far reaches
of cyberspace.
Only a bit longer now: a couple more hours.
Or until my mind rebels,
Explodes, or impeaches.

If that isn't a forced rhyme
I don't know what is.
And that vacuuming really isn't helping
the pounding
that is still behind my eyes
but I'll grin and bear it a bit 'cause this is show biz.

Show biz is right.
All the world's a stage, after all.
19 minutes to go
so I can do this again.
Hey, its over!
Now lets crawl

to the dance floor
(also known as the kitchen)
where I can twirl in the (night) gown
you bought me
last Christmas when
I didn't know that this year I'd be missing

you. Are still gone.
How is life, by the way
without me to worry over you-
around you-
Beneath you?
My, aren't I the sexual lot?

So many questions...
But now's not the time. 
A thought -  
almost had it. 
Oh well, maybe later
but with just a touch of some lime

for flavoring, of course.
Season to taste
and screw the recipe
(I never liked it much anyway).
Two pages and my head is still pounding.
This probably was just a waste.