Friday night
I didn't need it:
the fizzy dulling
the vulgar indulgence
the release of blood.
And yet
that was my hand:
in the fridge
on the keys
gripping the handle.
I make my own daily apocalypse
like it ever makes a difference
in the relentless gray face
of tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
I keep falling for the trap
of being my own fallen angel-
the fruit must be bitten-
that prophecy is in my blood.
But for all my miserable transcendence
I always return to the namesake
of a damaged little girl.
And realize
that I've done this to myself
and everyone around me
again.
@determinedSea4370
The pain and self recrimination of your poem makes for difficult reading. The religious metaphors side by side with the profane is an excellent analogy over the battle of the mind versus the mind, when Wants and Will clash. It is so self critical and harsh, and so for all I can admire it as a piece of creative art, it is sad to think of the feelings which may have been the muse for it.
@BastionKnight Thank you for your thoughtful reply! And thank you for understanding the poem.
@determinedSea4370 This poem really hits deep. The way it talks about that constant pull towards self-destruction, even when you know it's happening, feels so real and raw. The imagery of simple, everyday things like hands on a fridge or keys in the lock gives such a grounded, almost painfully familiar sense of how we can end up repeating our destructive patterns. There’s something really human about it. The line about being your own "fallen angel" really stuck with me--- it captures that inner conflict between wanting to break free and being stuck in a cycle. The speaker’s struggle to reconcile with their past and their impact on others is so relatable, even if it's tough to admit. It's a really powerful, honest look at the complexity of our choices. And the imagery of a "daily apocalypse" is so evocative -- along with the religious imageries made it more "real". I’d like to think that all those religious images of doom subtly hint that, even in our deepest despair, there’s always a chance for redemption and grace, as long as we confront our truths and hold onto hope.