"I, Anonymous" Poem

We present our ONLY anonymous writer. They do not want to reveal who they are… yet! We can definitely say they are a Lubbock Local writer. Here is their first poem titled, “I, Anonymous”

Acting as a kicking hallucinogen

Within arm’s reach

At the verge of possibility,

Happiness is unattainable.

 

Just inject me with morphine,

So I can be high

While I am low

Flying under the radar.

 

A smile cracking

Across my blood-spattered cheeks,

A temporary suicide

Followed by resuscitation,

My ghost awaits abduction

Dancing with the flies

Over a pile of shit.

 

But sometimes

The needle breaks

Against my crocodile skin.

 

Your persuasion fools me

Into believing emptiness

Pilots my being,

Nothingness disclosed

Once I am torn apart.

 

Self-mutilation for deep splinters

Poking me amid

A high fever melting

The shallow soiled snow,

I am a droplet that leaks

Past the sealed faucet,

A pill bug who

Crawls, cringes, curls up

Hiding from the pain

Of tragic romance masochism,

Outliving death disguised as

A giant dehydrating love.

 

Peel off my entire face flesh

To reveal the mortal

Anorexic potential,

So I can look happy eternally.

 

Yet, even a bare skull

With a naked grin

Cannot fake the misery

That lies beneath.

 

A requisite to stumble around

With poisonous blood

To convey the clotted truth

And feel like men,

Mapping out the visions

Of imaginable futures

Inside confined craniums

Above exploding hearts

And throbbing feet

Through alcoholic apologies.

 

Inventors do not receive

Enough sunshine;

They are not supposed to.

 

In perfect paradise,

I forget to breathe,

To live life on pause

When the beach spills out

A broken hourglass

Which becomes quicksand

That proceeds to

Engulf my existence

I cannot escape

As much as I try,

Like caught in a riptide

Where swimming

Nowhere

Drowns you.

 

The art expressed

Is the artist repressed,

Another weary overlooked creator

Begging for forgiveness

Of sooner unexpected behaviors.

 

I accept the neglect overtime;

Then again, it is better

If there is remembrance.

 

Simply do me one favor:

Do not obliterate my work;

Let it mean something forever.

 

The kingdom gates are closed,

And there is no place

Left for me

But the unknown

I, anonymous,

Am familiar with

By now.