Peering long into the Oceanside sky,
shit on by birds in flight,
Never me dare to wipe away the waste I so deserved,
Besides the sky is on my mind, zuma suns I’ve stared down are many now, I’ve burned round eye splitting circular dots into my corneas.
When I close my eyes it’s like a million spotlights burrowing into my brain.
Round and bright, Lit up Searchers, wandering about my mind, begging me to throw sand in my face to hasten their demise.
Wicked am I, lolling around looking for a heart shaped shell
So I can gaze upon some symbol I only dare peer at a second at a time.
There, Fists enclose around the find.
Hearts can be black like this one killer shell, heartshaped perfect.
Holding regret, hope, desire, failure, joy, oh and wishful love.
My love, A fabled legend, my love is like a Yeti.
I grasp the shell so hard with an outcry at last.
Bitter feelings got the better of me and blood runs down from my palm, my fist.
I’ve lain bare here in the sand
for quite a spate on a beach with now fancy biting crabs
I’ve lain here for hours, just to feel the pinch and the shell slits
Because sometimes crabs and sharp shells
can remind you how the small the pain can feel.
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Comments about this poem (Seafoam Sociopath by Princess LilyPad )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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