Poem: White



A Poem by Sam Oliver [Eris]


The blood doesn’t matter

Not the red

Where it spatters

On skin, my skin

So pale, so ghaunt

Like my teeth

Bare in their grin


I laugh at the pain

At the broken, lost mane

Of crimson

Of sticky, sticky red

That drips down my arm

That drips down my head


He cries

No, shouts

Backs away as the gouts

Of laughter and blood

Turn to mud

On the ground at my feet


Doubled but smiling

I watch him retreat

Wiping my lips

I make me

Look neat

For the man in the blue

As puzzled as you

When I walk in the door

And topple

To the floor


Eyes still wide open

Staring and broken

Watching the dust rise in clouds near my face

Hearing the song

Of the wounded and wrong

That leaps from your throat-

The deep rhythm’d sirens

Play bass


All that I think

As I slide from the brink

As the breathing can fade to a hum

The light in my eyes

As dark as surprise

Is yet at its heart




©2012  Sam Oliver [Eris]



No new short story just yet. ❤ I’m still working on it, of course.

I’m actually feeling pretty good, but poetry is dark for me and always has been. I find it hard to write about cheerful things, even with so-called cheerful titles.  I guess I find the dark of it beautiful in a haunting sort of way. I must have an unhealthy obsession with the morbid. But that’s alright. ❤

Anyway, enjoy.