deepundergroundpoetry.com
Bury Dead Horses, Don't Beat Them
The days are long and the nights are even longer, we’re beating this poor horse and I noticed it’s breathing stopped a long time ago. Beating a dead horse, am I using that idiom right? You know I’m no good with those and no matter how many times you say one stone is better than a hundred, I’m never going to understand that either. You’re more likely to kill two birds with two stones than you are with only one, why do something the hard way when there’s always a more simple one? If we’re out killing birds with stones, I’ll carry four while you carry one and we’ll see who has more dead birds to bring home. Why are we killing birds and beating horses anyway? Maybe I don’t understand because jokes about dead animals make me sad.
There’s a burning in my chest - it’s been decades since the last time we slept in that bed together, sometimes it felt as if I slept beside a stranger and it’s the first time in my life I wanted to hold someone I had never met. That night you stood in front of me with tears like a hurricane, you were struggling to catch your breath, begging me to love you back and it was in that moment I knew this poor horse’s heart no longer beat in its chest. I could tell by the look on your face and I knew during that brief moment of silence, you were hoping I’d have something to say. But there was nothing left to say, you weren’t comprehending any of it anyway and I had risen my white flag.
Can you draw me a road map of your moods, detailing where they lead and every possible detour? Because I’m lost, I’ve never traveled to a city like this before and the roads turn too often for my car to keep up. Didn’t you notice me fading in your rear view mirror? I’ve been a tourist in this town you grew up in and all I’ve ever wanted was for you to show me all the shortcuts to your heart’s favorite parking lots. Last night you said, “When I’m around you, I want to take a knife and carve at my fucking face.” and five minutes later you were sitting on the floor in a pile of self-pity, asking why it’d been years since I last kissed that face but before I had a chance to take a deep breath, you were telling me I made you want to kill yourself again. You need to add in these roads and sharp turns because I think my car is breaking down.
That night I sat with my knees to my face while crying over messages which had revealed everything, you said things would change. You said you’d make me happy but tell me baby, when was the last time you saw me smile or heard a laugh that wasn’t fake? You say things can’t get better because I won’t let it go but the hole I broke my knuckles in for the third time this week still exists right above your side of the bed, how can I forget when every time I hold you I’m forced to stare at it?
Horses are much different than the stethoscope we quickly replaced or bent syringes we toss aside like trash, this isn’t something we can buy from Walmart at four in the morning. Plus you and I, well, we know more than most about the permanence of mortality. How many more times are you going to break my heart this week? Now our words are sharp and I don’t know about you but I mean very few of them these days. While you’re crying because of reasons you don’t understand, I’m just sitting miles away from you with my hand on my chest to be sure my heart keeps beating through this.
This love has broken parts of me that I can’t afford to have repaired, so I’m stuck using super glue and strips of tape to piece myself back together but I can’t seem to get the tape to stick. I think I may have missed that day of kindergarten because I don’t ever remember being taught this. I was going to end this using an idiom but we already know I was never taught those either. Maybe if my parents had sent me to public school I’d know the secret to killing birds with stones.
I’d know why it’s preferable for our world to be an oyster even though I hate fish or why raining cats is used to explain something unpleasant. Why can’t we catch them with those baskets we aren’t supposed to put all of our eggs in? I’m never going to understand idioms or how to use them, and I’ll never understand your mind or how it works despite previously thinking I might.
It’s raining cats and dogs on this horse we’ve beaten dead. The world may or may not be our oyster, I’m not sure how you feel about fish yet and I don’t want to say the fat lady is singing, just in case that’s in my head and in reality she’s sitting in silence.
There’s a burning in my chest - it’s been decades since the last time we slept in that bed together, sometimes it felt as if I slept beside a stranger and it’s the first time in my life I wanted to hold someone I had never met. That night you stood in front of me with tears like a hurricane, you were struggling to catch your breath, begging me to love you back and it was in that moment I knew this poor horse’s heart no longer beat in its chest. I could tell by the look on your face and I knew during that brief moment of silence, you were hoping I’d have something to say. But there was nothing left to say, you weren’t comprehending any of it anyway and I had risen my white flag.
Can you draw me a road map of your moods, detailing where they lead and every possible detour? Because I’m lost, I’ve never traveled to a city like this before and the roads turn too often for my car to keep up. Didn’t you notice me fading in your rear view mirror? I’ve been a tourist in this town you grew up in and all I’ve ever wanted was for you to show me all the shortcuts to your heart’s favorite parking lots. Last night you said, “When I’m around you, I want to take a knife and carve at my fucking face.” and five minutes later you were sitting on the floor in a pile of self-pity, asking why it’d been years since I last kissed that face but before I had a chance to take a deep breath, you were telling me I made you want to kill yourself again. You need to add in these roads and sharp turns because I think my car is breaking down.
That night I sat with my knees to my face while crying over messages which had revealed everything, you said things would change. You said you’d make me happy but tell me baby, when was the last time you saw me smile or heard a laugh that wasn’t fake? You say things can’t get better because I won’t let it go but the hole I broke my knuckles in for the third time this week still exists right above your side of the bed, how can I forget when every time I hold you I’m forced to stare at it?
Horses are much different than the stethoscope we quickly replaced or bent syringes we toss aside like trash, this isn’t something we can buy from Walmart at four in the morning. Plus you and I, well, we know more than most about the permanence of mortality. How many more times are you going to break my heart this week? Now our words are sharp and I don’t know about you but I mean very few of them these days. While you’re crying because of reasons you don’t understand, I’m just sitting miles away from you with my hand on my chest to be sure my heart keeps beating through this.
This love has broken parts of me that I can’t afford to have repaired, so I’m stuck using super glue and strips of tape to piece myself back together but I can’t seem to get the tape to stick. I think I may have missed that day of kindergarten because I don’t ever remember being taught this. I was going to end this using an idiom but we already know I was never taught those either. Maybe if my parents had sent me to public school I’d know the secret to killing birds with stones.
I’d know why it’s preferable for our world to be an oyster even though I hate fish or why raining cats is used to explain something unpleasant. Why can’t we catch them with those baskets we aren’t supposed to put all of our eggs in? I’m never going to understand idioms or how to use them, and I’ll never understand your mind or how it works despite previously thinking I might.
It’s raining cats and dogs on this horse we’ve beaten dead. The world may or may not be our oyster, I’m not sure how you feel about fish yet and I don’t want to say the fat lady is singing, just in case that’s in my head and in reality she’s sitting in silence.
Published 27th Nov 2013
| Edited 6th Jun 2014
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The author encourages honest critique.
27th Nov 2013 6:07pm
28th Nov 2013 7:14am
28th Nov 2013 3:51pm
12th May 2014 6:03am
There is a lot of emotion in here and there are really sharp parts to this that are very gritty. I love the words, and there are emotional parts that feel very compelling. I also like the guitar, the way it's non-intrusive and almost syncopated.
My only suggestion is to think about speaking as acting. You are a character acting out your story. You know how they teach you in primary school that when you read from a book, you don't "read from a book?" You want to speak it as if you're acting it. Tell the audience this thing you experienced.
My only suggestion is to think about speaking as acting. You are a character acting out your story. You know how they teach you in primary school that when you read from a book, you don't "read from a book?" You want to speak it as if you're acting it. Tell the audience this thing you experienced.
