3/17/2016 Four poems by Bridget Eileenhis truth slithers into her By Bridget Eileen stabs her repeatedly in her car leaves an icy shell the lights of the parking lot are blurry from fog she knows she'll be dead for a while Not worthy Not special blackened resin and disappointment fill the lulls and snuff out hope hail claps the windshield the appetite of loneliness catching up with her machine cuts She doesn’t know why she likes to make herself bleed Pulling the skin around her fingernails so violently With her teeth seeing a little blood rise to the surface Sucking the red away going back in for more Hardly anyone is ever romantic nowadays One man did say he was distracted by her beauty That was flattering but mostly everyone is solicitous without A modicum of sweetness. It's painful. the grey days scandal, you'd know it if you looked for it clad in polka dots with a dash of blood on the side the madness and wild laughter kills happiness you only have to sneeze in that village for someone to think about the grey days, where the sky is nothing inside the man's study is a vase with a flower in it the able woman watches it wobble then bang the brutality, the portrait, who chooses not to discuss it fantastical feminine women with bulging breasts, oh and mouths, round, red, wet and ready to paint, to gloss, to touch with the tip of a brush, a finger, a thing to think of. So long ago, a lifetime of occurrences since those bold strokes what's left is solitude and a reverence for monsters made of paint About the author: Bridget Eileen lives in Boston. She grew up in the South Shore suburbs of the city. She received her undergraduate and graduate degrees in the great state of Maine. Along with writing poetry, journals, & picture books, she runs a style website showcasing her bargain hunter adventures in artsy, pinup, foodie, travel, nature and style stuff. Her work has been published in various publications, inlcuding most recently in Summerstock Journal and Let the Bucket Down. Her role model in life is Maude, of Harold and Maude. Comments are closed.
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