Come To Me Fickle Words Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Come to me fickle words.
Lift the weight from
my mind.

Let it flow free. Be free. Be renewed.

Lead me to a place of solitude
where I might recreate the
flow of energy
through a
tunnel of doubt.

Flavour me with the spices of growth.

Let it flow free. Be free. Be renewed.

I am not hearing a word you say.
I am not listening.
I will not concede a single compromise.

Not anymore. Not anymore.

So be it as you wish it. You who demand
I make a contribution to the
flippant hall of pain.

I will not live here.
You cannot force me to feel
or to
be an image
of a shadow.

I am just me. I am just me.

Come to me with malice in words.
Strike me. Emotionally batter the
core of my soul.


I will not attempt to correct you.
Make up your visions
as you see fit.

Leave me alone.
I don't want to play anymore.

We put our play money down.
Our game had ended.
Neither of us won.
Neither of us lost.
Neither of us knew what
the outcome was
supposed to be.

Breathe on me the breath of silence.

I will become quiet.
I will shut myself
into the label you have
modified for me.

I am a memory for you.
You are a stranger to me.

Let me go. Let me flop myself
into a comfortable
position.

I am not a broken toy.
I am a broken man.
Come to me with your dagger
at the ready.
Stabbing, you do not seem to
realize you
have been
cutting into the fabric
of our life.

Let it end.
I am waste material
that has been flushed
down the drain of
pretend.

Come to me fickle words. Lift the
black flag from the flagpole
of retreat.

We are dead.
The funeral is yet to begin.