White Shirt

It hangs on the chair

Like a beacon in the night
My body lost in the ocean
Of you
I wake from restless sleep
To make sure it is still there

Calloused hands reach for me
Taking me in
I never felt such relief

© K.D. Schultz

Walls

Four of you conspire
to keep me this place
of deep scars and demons.
Marking endless souls
that come through
the gates of shame.
pocked pustule gorged holes—
inflicted by those who paid their dues
to the white robed gods of the mind,
walking pill dispensers, how I love
when you lavish little pink dolls on me.
I utter like a parrot,
so I won’t go to the second floor,
where the monster resides—
sizzling grey matter, burning embers
of those that exist no more.

© K.D. Schultz

Broken

I’m still broken inside
My sweet smile lies
So do my eyes.
But you don’t see
The deep darkness in me.
My fractured heart
The jagged shards
Will cut you deep
A thousand apologies
Fall from my lips
You devour
Every night
They don’t mean anything.
His freedom is now your consequence.

© K.D. Schultz