Saturday, August 29

#11 Phantom Limb

 courtesy: Gry Poulson


but not forgotten

It’s been a while…

But lately it feels like

you were lost to me

all of a sudden.

Nerves disjointed

shooting terror


nothingness lived

experiencing movements

from a mirage drawn

out of a fatal error


claiming that

this distorted member

of my supposed making

was still

a part of me

and tragically

though unseen,



yet living…

It was

never advertised


that you would

only spend

this short while

with me

before you

left quietly


as if you were

never even here


of the memories

that coloured my tears

into tranquilizers

that couldn’t heal me

or my cares

but just sedate

every sharpened wince

of hurt

that prodded inside

raging all the more

after the effects

were spent…

on the after effects

of the fact that you had left.


in the

continuing aftermath

they said

would eventually end


their comments


based on your absence

in the space

where I knew

you had once


tiptoeing around

my strain

everyone stretching

themselves thin

because of my

dim understanding

that this sensation

was a farce

created to shield

the most breakable of my

disheveled parts

which were intimately

connected through my grieving.


I knew what was real

Though I never did tell

I knew what was real

when the sweat broke

from my brow

and spilled into

five turned fifteen

turned infinite

minutes from hell.

I knew what was real…

but acceptance

was too unkind

That’s why

I’d rather

believe this illusion

in order to

be close

to you.

One last time.


 My Inspiration: The Women

© KohylahPiper 2015

Thursday, August 27

#10 Storms and such...

courtesy: Nathan Lounds

Intermittent monsoons
of variable strength
had flooded your highways and bends
yet they never altered
your course
even when the worst
that you could have never
dared to conjure
ripped you to shreds.
You chose to methodically ignore your pain
and the person who shared it
committing emotional suicide
then murder
with bullets of your own
desperate making
ending everything
and everyone
with an empty rhetoric
heard no longer in the empty nest
your home had become…
swallowed wholly by currents of air
rotating an evaporated chill
running through the fraying seams
of the pillow that harboured
secrets and lies
you’d forgotten how to tell;
it had become harder these days
to convince yourself
the smoke that held you together was sincere
when your conscience howled
in disapproval with the outsides gusts into
your selective ear
but, knowing the path that you’d take
could not be changed without recognition
of your mistakes
the howls ceased to be and
silence erupted between your sheets;
your pride relieved…
only for not understanding
this silent eeriness was not defeat
but rather
your last warning to heed
an impending judgment.

This whirlwind life was prophetic
just like it, you never stopped spinning
that’s the only way you knew
to survive
and oblivious to many
you lived preoccupied
for in your frightened depths
you acknowledged
the life you chose was not cheap
you had sown so many errors
that the harvest you thought was yours
was actually made from your abstracted dreams
that would seem so real for a moment
then leave…
this face that you no longer recognized…
save the pupils
both still flashing an SOS
for aid and approval
that could only be found in the
centre of your storm
wide and compressed, bands
of misleading calm
that with little or no provocation
lead to the descent of surprising destruction
firmly placed ideals
flying outward with no warnings given
lights off
every thought darkened
pitter patters obsolete
overrun by water's forces
sliding land
is where you stand…
but a flicker remains
for redemption.

My Inspiration: Storms

© KohylahPiper 2015

Wednesday, August 26

#9 The Cost of Life

courtesy: Katherine Evans

The cost of my life was
The price of a shoe
branded with an upward stroke
that made you sure 
of your correctness
made you confident enough to
just do it
as  you inhaled envy
To exhale death upon me
Unshaken that I'd be 
ripped from my young,
my daughter and son
And the rest of my family
It didn’t matter
because the brand was the goal 
it provided status,
you knew you’d feel lit
and with those ideas in your juvenile mind
you performed with slight of hand
 like a magicians trick
and by your blade I vanished
for the cost of something
that didn’t even fit.

 The cost of my life
was an insurance policy
that gave you access
to a large but limited fee
that from your point of view
was the unlimited dream
one I had mistaken
for our life together,
my happiness thrived
on the edge of your sleeve
but with a flick of your wrists
it became dismantled
eyes laced with licentious tenacity
that laid hold on the greed
that became master
of the taut rope behind my neck
and the disappointed terror
that erupted through my flesh...
expensive tastes, expensive scents
that now forms your  last memory
of me, my smell.
No. 5 Chanel
currently overwhelming the space
of your small square cell.

 In your thoughts I was objectified
My net worth the same as
an operating system
compacted into
a gadget that would
crack as easily as
its edgy frame
at the slightest mishap
or accident
as you claimed
it was
when a model
that changes every
year or two was the price you
could afford
for me to stop breathing;
that you thought
you needed so badly
with my absence
in your narcissistic selfie
that verified
my presence on earth
was worth less than your definition
of innovative technology.

The cost of my life
was ironic
approaching me
a menacing silhouette
asking me for my wallet
thinking of the green
sure I’d concede
in relief for pseudo-might
not shattering
my dreams
of just being alive
to live another day
but that did not happen
and I was slaughtered
by an...
 Thinking that I was lying,
unaware of my own struggles
said I was keeping it all for me
told me it was my own
fault that the holes in my gut
burning and leaking
was a punishment that had to be.
Before I closed my
eyes ,  I heard the terrified cry
weren’t you upset…
because the cost of my life
was worth the contents
or lack thereof
of an empty leather wallet.

Money is relevant
but not as important
as some persons hold its worth.
The cold reality
is that though many have tried
to justify printed paper
its value is obsolete
when compared
to a life that once was,
now residing
six feet under the earth.
The price of many lives
for material gain
has confirmed
what our world has come to hold dear.
Not empathy, or love,
truth, honour or trust,
but power, arrogance
and manipulation of fears
We’ve mistaken
the sacred for a piece
of paper
that can be easily shred
into the dust that will
cover the wood
of our very last bed.

To put another human in a box
for something
one can earn if one dares try
is a price that just defines
what you hold first
 not the need for approval, 
or to escape poverty's curse
but your own projection
about what
the cost of your own life is worth
For one body though through
your vile means was laid to rest
will endlessly culminate
under the weight 
of your own death.

My Inspiration: Wadadli. Crime.

© KohylahPiper 2015

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