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Home for the Holidays

Home for the Holidays

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Published by Kyle Downes
Home for the Holidays is a collection of poetry written by Kyle Downes in 2008.
Home for the Holidays is a collection of poetry written by Kyle Downes in 2008.

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Published by: Kyle Downes on Oct 04, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Home for the Holiday
An Anthology a collection of poems bKyle Downe
The Shakespeare” Trilogy
who knew the old man had so much blood in him?
Behind the gravestonewe fuckedthe earth still fresh beneath our backsThe irony probably would’ve been lost on the old bastardOver my dead body!he used to scream(he never thought we’d take it literally)And Mum, shetook the pictures down from thewall and burned them,imagined herself rising with the flames.Please Dad; I’ll never do it again, just don’t…”tired,of the screams at nightof the broken glass,drunken words of anger(THUMP!) of hiding under sheets(THUMP!) and under beds(THUMP!) praying that it will stop (THUMP!) stop (THUMP!)STOP!!!!who knew the old man had so much blood in him?I can still smell it, feelthe warm flow of his life,see it blossom along the garage floor,collapsing on the ground, coldlike the gun in my trembling handlike the sweat that paints my bodylike the sound of metal on fleshlike the black night air,like my mother’s hand on my shoulder,like the lies she whispers into my earthe wet grass beneath my skindesperate to take refuge in the nighttears streaming down my face,screaming for mercy,discharging my sins into her,each thrust cold metal against warm flesh.They say an orgasm is like death
the serpent underneath
the first thing i remember?butterflies;in the field, butterflies(?)like leaves, littering the ground,hanging in the air, floating,gracefulthen nothing
handsinside, outside,scolding…
butterflies,sweet, innocent, colourfullike broken glass (NO!)like flowers, yes, flowers,fresh flowersthen
hands inside,outside,someone screaming (me?)no, no, no…”
NO!the butterflies!but they are gone and I am (gone)alonein red-tipped field of greenglinting in the harsh artificial lightlaid bare before prying eyesthe coldness in my soul mocking the burning between my legs

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