Cold Blood

Not bad, but cold.

Slowing my inner flow.

Disturbance to my inner sanctuary.

Deaths knocking at my door

Simply from visiting a neighbor, I grow cold.

Shivers all up and down my spine.

Cold blood, weakened pulse.

Death isn’t easy, neither does it sound trumpets before pouncing upon us.

Seeing deaths got me turning cold. Stirring my spirit, thinking if I’m ready to leave my home.

Say goodbye to my captured soulful life on earth.

Growing up in America you constantly hear how we’re so blessed And God knows best.

But then I think,”What if death was about to hit me dead in my chest. Disrupting the very air I breath”!

Ugh Hugh.

High I swell

Life is short.

But there’s no short phrase telling me how to prepare for death.

Readying me to see it.

Feel it.

And hear about it passing me by.

Deaths got me feeling cold.

As if its forever close.

A shadow hovering igniting my senses.

Occasionally tapping me on the shoulder and pointing at someone else, causing distress.

Forcing my head and my eyes to see.

Then pointing down at his watch.

I squint and stare , but I cant see the hands telling me the time I’ll drop dead.

Deaths got me feeling cold.

Cold blood to the bone.

Death came around and it got me feeling cold.

Cable strings

From my spine to my mind.

Navel cord and time.

Binding me and stringing me

Not blood and sweat but heart felt thoughts.

Him and I

No longer separate but intertwined.

Him and I.

Stitch by stitch

Every inch we’re stitched

Limb, mind, heart and soul.

Together we burn.

Sifting each other, perfecting our cause.

Dust to dust and ashes to ashes. we lay down and get back up.

Inseparable, we’re matches.

Igniting each others flames

Like gasoline on my fire.

We burn slow and steady.

No abrupt combustion but intently set apart concupiscence love.

Diablo….

I saw it suddenly and it scared me. The devils in his eye’s.

I see it clear.

Most think he the devil only dwells in the blue or green eyed men.

But this devil’s taken to my brown eyed man, singing, he sings downtown, calling it the blues.

I see it in his eyes, I hear it in his voice.

He moans and groans, scatting about his choice.

My man with the devil in his eyes, has a delightful voice.

But that’s besides the point.

He called three times, and he came.

“That son of a bitch, went and gave it up!”

The devils in his eyes, and now he’s lost his choice.

Night after night, he howls the devil’s favorite tune’s.

That thing that dwells deep within all of us, he gave his own up.

And now he sings, every night about his deal with the devil.

And people listen from dusk to dawn, to that man singing about the devil in his eyes, and how he stole his soul.

Telling stories, he says the devil whispered in his ear.

Going on about when he called three times, some late, dark night.

Telling people, “I can’t cry.”

“Cause I’m the one that let him in. Ever since that night, I can’t sleep so I stay here and chant the blues.

I see things, no man should ever see.

When I let the devil in, he made himself at home.

Can’t shoo him out, because he’s got, my soul.

My mother cried and begged me to take it back. But I couldn’t tell her, it was a done deed, signed my name, and its a cold hard fact.

Now, I just close my eyes and humm that same ole tune. And think to myself the devils got me beat. I’ll just continue to play the blues. The devil’s tune will never change, I heard it on the night he came. A, C, B, C”….

But it’s just what I heard from this ole girl who loved a brown eyed man, with the devil in his eyes.