Inside My Tomb

Like the Phoenix I rise from my grave
Inside my own tomb
The shattered echoes of my past
Trying to claw me back under

Sleep escapes me one more time
Shall I never know rest?
The burden has been heavy
And the veil still seeks to cloud mine eyes
The fevered death grip of the end
Will always hunt me
It wants me down where the damned weep

As I scream, “Nein,”
The dead hover nearby
Greedy little smiles,
“Just a bad dream,”
A whispered prayer
Cannot erase
And these things cannot be undone

My reflection crying tears of blood
And the mark on my chest recalls
A flame unlit, a bullet taken
As I reach for release
My sorrow shall always
Remain just a glance away

Still on fire I do rise from my own grave
And shout into the wind
“Innocence is mine!”
It is mine and I will not surrender

© Christina Nabity
Written December 5, 2012

For awhile my grief and loneliness made it to difficult to even dip into poetry, and it's healing nature. Though I have found poetry a great tool for that there were multiple times where it hurt too much to grip that tool. At the time I wrote this it was a brief break from simply not being up to writing poetry.

Lit Upon a Shallow Grave

Subtle deceptions plunged the knife
Deep in to come out the other side,
Hints preceding the trail of red
Not enough to forewarn;
Hazy image floods to wicked clarity
Flames lick through the shallow grave

Attempted corruption of a sleepless beauty
Empathy choked with heartless snow
Circling of blind crows
Flames creeping higher still
The flower inside did wither and die
Fed upon vaporous poisons most unclean

Do this or die,
Two choices the same under any light
Lesser of two equivalent evils
Makes stronger the poison
Sharpens the knife,
Desecration of a shallow grave runs deep

Weep in that corner little pretty
Sip on this and know what is taken away,
Burns out a hollow, shut down inside
This closed switch does not work,
Doubt and fear still creep through even the fire
Sorrow drowns like water, yet does not douse the flames
Smaller she becomes, yet full of pent up lightning

And at the end game with all his cards on the table
Many she kept up her sleeve, not knowing why
Save maybe she had dug her own grave
And handed the matches to the boy,
A dead hope harbored inside, trying to revive
Concern yourself not with this fading girl
Kindness was her sin and her strength subtle
But most unmistakably there

© Christina Nabity

Written September 27, 2012

Cloak the Mirrors in Black Satin

Small words that cut so deep
Ominous the sound,
Inside an audible snap
Why did I not sound the knell then?

Optimism never does pay in full
Kind breath absent,
Raised the sword arm
To sever the ties
And it fell limply at my side

A wound so deep how it did pour
And I with no will to stop its flow,
Cannot meet my own eyes
Cloak the mirrors in black satin
Just keep wafting by
Fingers at my wrist

Never a day will come
Where I am absent the wish
My pride had been strong enough
To put myself first

Never have I been that girl
So high the price I pay,
So low on my knees
Head pressed to the floor,
This piece inside crying -
Lower I can go
Shove my head through the floor

There is not a place for me above
Near as I can tell
The message sent loud and clear –
We do not want you here


© Christina Nabity
Written August 6, 2012

Shadow Upon a Rose

A broken heart and shattered mind,
Darkness rings true for her tonight,
Love that should not be scorned,
Rivers can be torn apart,
Shadow upon a rose
Overthrows the dew

Arisen this cold morning
Enshrouded of mist
Too near the graveyard
That wasn’t there before
Wraithen glimmers creep closer
That subtle flower hides these none

Duty to persevere
Stricken shallow
The rose is covered now
Somber is the taste of midnight
Riven from the bone
Forced as a veil upon the day

Wash the haze from mine eyes,
Scour the dregs
A yield of shades of oblivion,
Reckless hindsight
No tolerance of foreshadow
The thing is done

© Christina  Nabity
Written August 6, 2012

Echoes of a Frozen Soul

For one second, I allowed peace at the sight of you;
The hammer fell before it was swung
Not long after, the axe came too
Head still attached
World in the rearview mirror
Pump it full of lead
But nothing prevents such deadly bites
Always the same echo

Heartbeat stilled
Motion yet imbued
Slow
Yet cannot outrun
Never pulled the trigger in time;
Time stands still
Rewind
Outcome never transforms
Efforts never cease,
The blade is always sharp

Not the end result that concerns me now
It’s the route;
Path of flame soaked rocks
No water to slide through
Molten soiled splinters,
My hand stayed at the trigger
Memories repeat
A stranger grins somewhere
It comes

Can I trickle through?
Bled on the afterburn
Scalding ice shattered in two
Blistered heart
Trust erased
Fingering the scalpel,
Frozen soul
Eclipsed by the shadow
As shadows so often do,

Coursing through my veins
Tidal waves of an ilk
An ilk of snakes
Wavering lines in time
Ashen face in the mirror
And that is not me
She weaves this net;
Next falls the sword
Caught mid air
Purge the night

The rain that explodes
The river ran red
Trip the wire
Sing the dirge
Fashioned a garrote then,
Swarm entwines
Never escapes the starlight,
Asphyxiate just a little longer,
Slice right through
Heart’s on fire again

Mandolin on the vine
Tremor in the storm
Run while the shadow sleeps
And slow dead things creep,
I hear your funeral song
And know it was always mine
Perceptions shift and slip
Slick conclusions
Mixed delusion in the shift
Torrent of misapprehended grief;
Gather the wild anemones
And soldier on
I’ll meet you again on the other side


© Christina Nabity
Written June 28, 2012

As I wrote this is somehow began to sound as though I was writing about zombies, so I allowed it to twist that way, though what I really was writing about was some emotional pain….as usual. Funny how often a poem will start out that way and wind up all supernatural horror stuffs…guess those things are a metaphor for that kind of pain anyhow.

Stricken Little Moments

One foot out the door,
The other in the grave
Knew it was over then, before and after
Many stricken little moments;
Still I hung on
These threads are all there is some days

As I hung, all bled away
Icy grip on my heart
Fire in my belly,
As I dreamt it
So it was;
The question which haunts -
How much of me dies?

All beyond repair
Now so many tainted memories
Suspicions proved true
Solid was my sight,
Yet when it came
I had no defense;
Another lie,
Forewarned is not always forearmed

So damaged
The truth hit home
Then home was gone
There is no us
Adrift, lost
I cannot contain
Obliterated as it were;
Had a glimpse
Then nothing more

Unsure of everything
Certain of nothing
A candle in the light does no good
So I could not escape this fate;
Knowing that which is to come
Does nothing to ease the pain

Bits of a dead heart
Strung together by the barest of thread,
Burned destruction through my mind
Broken trust into scattered ashes
How does this repair?


© Christina Nabity
Written December 29, 2011