Forgotten (to silence). – Lucy (of Lucy’s Works)

Stare at the ceiling,

I am an afterthought,

dreams cast

forgotten memories

in twilight’s tongue

rivaling alone

the silence of the world

that pretends to be still,

when it’s

fucking not;

I wake in the room alone,

I intend to sleep;

in weakness, the oeuvre is loneliness

as it slips

bloodily on begotten words


to fragile oaths

in dark’s pariah

in a mistrusted world;

I gorge no more words

from my psyche

but I hunger

and I born

through mind and liberty,

emptiness, rage,

and cooled scars

by disarray, the throbbing

of spring

shamed by the mirror’s


shackled to the ebbs


to shadows

to silence in the end;

I gorge no more words

from my psyche.

for more of Lucy, click on over, and over and over again:

image: david sutton

Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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