Elimination by Examination
By: Branson Moors
What am I doing here?
Cornered between a brick wall,
eyes watching, peering, waiting
For a mistake made by you to fall
My mind quivers, my mind blanks
As blank as the paper before me,
Questions on how I’m going to survive
And what my next choice will be
Will this really be it?
My life hanging on how long I remember?
To memorize what I’ve learnt,
From the beginning right through November?
History; not my passion
Computers; not really my concern,
Will I never be a Cinematographer?
When I don’t pass what I don’t want to learn?
I don’t expect you to understand
You’re already there, your dreams met
But your world, isn’t described like mine
Following your dream through papers you set
I’m not your puppet you can control
Working and killing me like a slave
Deciding if I’m going to be in the city,
Or beneath them among children you wouldn’t save?
Try you’re hardest, I was always told
You will reap what you sow
But this paper leaves you with nothing,
Until you have nothing to show
A ceremony in flames just for me
With petals leading to a grave
Ghosts, witness to my marriage
The dead will all be my slave
Undead in renaissance clothes
White roses sprinkled red by a crow
Ghosts with masks bow to their King
Their tamed eyes and gasps show
The sun breaks, and the guests leave
The rain turned white flowers black
The man in the mask bids farewell
with red-blood suit and hair gelled back
His mask painted with a blue smile
his gloves stained with blood and grease
as he waves goodbye to those who stayed
his manly form disappears into a beast
The wicked, wrathful words belong to you,
and it pains however the way you want it.
The sudden fall will be blamed on me,
like tearful water down a faucet.
It makes sense when you’re never around;
a thousand aches tell me that I’m right.
Always turning around hoping to be wrong,
but truth is shown when you’re nowhere in sight.
How long did you doubt me
when you showed me a smile instead?
How long were you pretending
when we were both lying on our bed?
Those kisses tasted like plain wheat to you?
Were lips and tongue fallen upon your skin mundane?
Did my arms on your thighs feel warm at all?
Did you pretend to embrace to keep me sane?
More questions than heart does the story go
more plot than end like a never-ending script
until heart sinks beneath ground and stone
like being buried alive inside a crypt.
Making mud my home now to hide away
wet dirt painted across this body of mine
to the bottom then, away from the above
to the depths of below, where vermin like me dine.