FavoriteLoadingAdd to favorites

She Bleeds For Brooklyn

written by: Judge Burdon

 

She lives with low rent day dreams, on no name backstreets.
Dirty sidewalks made from quicksand concrete,
There's no yellow brick road.

In this city like a desert without an oasis.
Hope a disease that breeds in places,
Where God wouldn't go.

In the air, there's a stench the smell of desperation.
And lives are stamped with a date of expiration.
The Devil's grip on their souls.

Night crashes down with the sound of a train wreck.
She's on the prowl for love and everyone's suspect,
But they just leave her cold.

She cries with a sound that no one hears.
Her eyes lost their voice
Now she can't speak with tears
She wonders about life on the other side of the mirror.

Kneels down for one more unanswered prayer.
But there's no one listening out there!

And she bleeds, she bleeds for Brooklyn
She's hemorrhaging lies and alibis.
She bleeds, she bleeds for Brooklyn.
Break free Persephone
Brooklyn left the front porch light on.

Judge Burdon

Judge Burdon

On an unseasonably cool July morning in Chicago, equivalent to Dickens' David Copperfield, Judge Burdon was born on a Friday. His mother theorized it was so he would be in time for weekend festivities.
His fascination by the predominance of the written word inspired his study of English Literature. He attended Universities in the United States, London and Paris to continue his life's scholarship focusing on Victorian novels and authors.
His writing career to date has been devoted primarily to poetry and songwriting. Short stories and poems have been featured in: The Remnant Leaf, Stay Weirdand Keep Writing, Independent Writer's Blog and Anti-Heroin Chic. He is presently engaged in finishing his book "Imitation of Myself." A non-fiction story encompassing his experiences as a drug runner for a Mexican Cartel. Judge celebrated his 65th birthday last July and lives modestly in Costa Rica.
Judge Burdon

Latest posts by Judge Burdon (see all)

Read previous post:
Autumn, a micropoem written by A.K. Hata at Spillwords.com
Autumn

Autumn written by: A.K. Hata   Autumn arrived, his eyes behind a mask disguised, red leaves fall, rustling in the squally...

Close