Scampering From Freud, The Ellipsis | Teen Ink

Scampering From Freud, The Ellipsis

October 20, 2010
By zachroyal PLATINUM, Johnson City, Tennessee
zachroyal PLATINUM, Johnson City, Tennessee
33 articles 4 photos 7 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I Am but Mad North-northwest: When the Wind is Southerly I Know a Hawk from a Handsaw"

It was a brilliant way to get to the
Heart of the matter and
Then eat it.
If only I could taste as good
As my mother and my
Father I would bite it to the
Core, suck the seeds from its
Quiet little burden. Maybe mom and
Dad would grow a little in me;
Like an ink black tree.
Sending an underestimated
Cartoon character to claw
Roots deep in my frontal
Lobe, dangling out my eye
Like the lapping tongues of
Cerebus, the eyes of a coy
Fish hit in the head with a
Tack hammer. That is me,
Jesus, I’ve got problems with my mother.
I came because I were hot
And I’ve broken my
Laughing brow, broken my
Mother’s heart. I was a
Dirty eye this time. From
The desk of a voyeur trying
To keep himself tucked
Away. Skies were made tables,
Made into holy bread.
Oh god, here it is again.
What I am: the proverbial
Again. He broke the lock
Again, left it hanging. He
Was up late again crusing
Hot streets. I did it again,
on the Dining Room
Table, played with my bread,
I thought it was a
Dream, there I was
Seated in my own shabby shrine.
I think of this kid Cody.
In first grade he’d come to school
All messed up.
Mother told me he was a
Sloppy eater but I knew he
Was his daddy’s punching bag.
Working hard these days
Meant snapping somewhere
But not on the clock.
High collared homes yield
Careful lies and monster sons.
Jitters with wives and no one to
f***. Our drive was the
Product of the mess, of the
Ageless shiver. We would
Not cut ties, we would only
Beg for another.
Remember the monster
Son? Remember the
Monster and his sneer? His
Kraken arms teach me the
Rock and the Ground and
The Fire. My father never
Thought I could fail. Worth
Was translated into
Potential realized into
Spooky. Spooky that I can’t
Stop shaking, that I guess I
Failed regardless. I bit the
Curb, down for the count,
No cut lip, only strings.
They shake like sympathy.
Shake like torn luck
Wearing thin. All those
Times we got away and
Really wondered how. I
Could still taste last week’s
Snow on the concrete. It
Came from the clouds,
Relieving some angel of his
Blue balls; kept the
Shiver in the sidewalk, the
Past scattered on my teeth.
It felt like a messy lunch, like mommy’s bosom!
A motivation
To stand up and pull on my
Freshly unwoven heartstrings
So what? I bring it
Down crashing around my
Ears, my fresh broken glass,
Chaos crown. Hey,
Bystander! Come here. Give
Me a kiss. Slip your hands in
My shorts, things are
Moving up.
Things are things and I am
Not forever. You remind me
Of my mother, you remind
Me of snow. Our wonted
Prolipsis soiled and stained;
All closets in orbit, all
Memories at war. We were
The balmy spoils and I am
The pitied messiah. With
Burnished end and no
Chance to confess, I save
You all. I save you sister thought.
I save you brother curb.
I save you mother, father.
I am the torrid body.
I am the blizzard thought.
Have you ever wondered to
Thank the period sacrificed to
End the sentence?
He wonders: God, when will
This paragraph break,
Smash to pieces?

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