WARNING: THIS IS A GRAPHIC POEM
RABBIT IN A BOX
It was nineteen-fifty nine, I think;
or, was it sixty? Sadly, I’m not so sure.
Time passes as we age in such a blink.
Time merges events and causes them to sink
at times into a murky and distorted blur
where, in cases, sure, what came before
our minds restore in after sure.
But the year needn’t matter,
before which came or which the latter.
For, in truth, for me it was just this morning,
and ever shall be as thus does daily, without a warning,
my mind, the deed long past occurred, does sudden vet
and in full revulsion tempered not,
but in horrid blossom come anew,
doth in full measure complete restore
that pulse in time that I cannot ignore.
The mind is locked upon the memories,
those that haunt and gladly vaunt,
for somehow in some unexpected way we can,
without any conscious consideration, easy tap
that which can sudden reach the conscious surface
as rocket they from deeply protected mental sanctuaries
they leap across their own synaptic gap
to lean in upon an empty place of thought
not expected, wished for, and unsought
those, whether brings to bear a misty smile;
or, in some revealing need to fill the quest for singular pain
where guilt it knows the stain runs deep
and to that point to reach inside to tear
our hearts from peaceful dream filled sleep;
or in light of sun strike knife like deep,
to cause our souls to wish to able weep
if weep we outward could, or even weep we should.
But, I am locked in this haunted horrid space
unable to disclaim or cry a single tear,
for no tear upon my face can or ever could or unlikely should trace
for fear——for fear——
for fear I’ve come to wonder
——for fear of what?
A memory so large? So tainted? So stained?
One, overtime, which, in size enormous hath attained.
That which lies deep asunder,
and sudden can arise from wakening slumber
as a flash of lightning does before the coming thunder
Nay, no tears shall stain this face.
I can, without tears, bear this disgrace alone and must.
For tears show the pain held deep within which I do not wish to show
for the results of which I do not, cannot trust,
and I cannot. I must not, and I will not allow this sin
to on the surface be so focused
to place or find me weakly upon my knees
for emotions to me are naught but thieves.
Thieves which would steal seconds, minutes, hours and days from me.
Alone, this then the singular horror has found a home
and need not to any other person roam,
or ever even leave this poem.
Perhaps, then, when all is thought, when all is said
perhaps it might be the best for you to now in reading stop.
I’ll grant you that.
If, in some way you’ve, in mistake, this place have come;
stop now, before this tale I recommence to tell,
while you are safely in shallow waters,
and my mind in heavy chains doth rest;
before I tell the rest, the stained and tormented rest,
and then haunted——haunted you might forever bound be joined with me
to set sail forever on this endless rotting, lifeless sea
lost to any tranquility as any sanguinity the dark surface does not bear
and pessimism laps upon the surrounding shore.
There where you might come to think yourself, believed, had been set free at times
then find lines that haul you back to find me waiting, standing there next to thee.
Ah, but in shadows, my shadows I, smiling, digress too easily, far too easily you see,
for I know the path too well to this place, this haunted space,
this place of hell, you’ll soon see, if you stay and foolish walk with me.
You’ll see——as I offer you a cup of shame,
a cup of pain, and shadow now.
Come——if you dare,
come and follow me,
stay with me,
stay with me amidst the unpleasant nightmarish flow
which I cannot now stop this push to forward go
and sadly know each twist and turn
and yet I yearn and struggle to be set from this memory free
and I warn you,
that I scream at this, but cannot from the terror let it go.
I must openly tell you now,
warn you now,
and confess before you now,
that with me, this point forward, you may not wish to go
for once a tiny, beating heart I found——
a tiny, beating heart that lay gentle sleeping upon the ground
all wrapped in white and grey fresh birthed rabbit fur
and then demons,
swept in and we two found.
(You’ve now been warned by me this one last time,
for hell we, you and I, are now thickly bound to go,
for beyond this point your soul shall sink and we, together, shall drift
and drop much deeper still, below that which you might not think does exist,
we will now sound depths deeper still which had you stayed away,
or dropped the thread at once in simple, innocent dismay
you may never once might have found that which now waits for thee
for herein is found a child was mental raped one day, you’ll come to see,
you’ll know the truth the secret well as I lift the veil
and that child never more can let the ill visions ever go.)
Still wish to go on?
So, herein let me now begin, and——I pray,
this journey with me you now shall wisely end
for I found a tiny beating heart
that others passed by one day,
not any they noticing
on that evil fated day
all softly bundled up
in fresh birthed rabbit fur,
fresh washed by its mother tongue,
in one last loving act,
then left there to die alone by her,
as Nature knew,
its mother knew,
knew something was amiss.
I recall a soft breeze was cause enough to stir that puff of fur
that drew my ever drifting attention there,
to where laying close to the edge of Proviso’s high school running track,
left by nature’s mother to die alone, alone and to one never be known.
Then, luckless, happened I upon the spot,
but I could not wish for such a fate to be.
It was not in my heart, nor could I see what nature knew.
So I scooped up the beating, living, tired heart
wrapped in grey and white puffs of new birthed rabbit fur;
and carried then throughout the day, tucked proudly, safely in a shirt pocket,
proudly carried the tiny life gently in my shirt pocket all that day,
from class to class until the day of school was done
then entered home thinking I had somehow won
and proudly waited for the two who birthed me home to come.
But then my parents came upon the scene
and therein caused the day to sudden tilt and blur
and life——somehow——for me——ended that day.
A piece of my soul broke free that day,
left me somewhat more the empty than I had ever come to be,
ever knew could be that way,
ever knew would forever stay that way.
And, I wanted to die.
I wanted to reach up and grab the sky
by the white meat upon its blue neck
and scream at life itself that day,
as life itself
seemed to walk on by
I cursed life,
cursed heaven, hell, and all the rest——
and in a silent, pain filled yell,
beating bruises upon my chest.,
cursed the ones for whom for me life had birthed.
Oh, cursed world.
Oh, imprudent world.
How coarse thou art.
How in foolish misguided kindness had I blindly wont and tried to save the day.
I let the tiny creature lay sleeping, sleeping in my shirt pocket there warm and safe,
safe from the churlish world about me wound around while the life enclosed in believed
in safety lay therein.
But death was sweeping in to lay cold hands upon the day
while I, not thinking there could ever be any cause for weeping waited.
Joyful waited! Waited there.
Thinking I had saved the beating heart of furs life,
and oh how proud the pair, the loving, protective parents that birthed me would so be.
When came they upon the scene to see.
Until, for me, the reality set in.
When then the parents arrived upon the scene.
Then the child’s mind began to scream,
when the child was told by its mother who,
oddly, herself, could not in fear touch a dead animal.
Nor, even, could she herself cause its death to be;
and, so, she left it to the child alone to walk
to a local drug store with orders to fetch a bottle
a bottle dark of sleeping death;
and along the way, to no one know, except the child of course, the creature began to grow
from evil seeds which the woman did from a thoughtless purse careless sow
without regards for or know where the seeds might go, or damage cause
and did not in thinking ever pause how death she caused to a waking dream.
Then, when the wide-open-eyed child from its measured mission did return,
this parent, this mother, protector of her child, ordered then the creature growing there
to take a stand, a position, upon the porch with a wad of cotton
and instructed the stirring monster to careful be,
to not spill the sleeping potion upon the wooden rail or deck
but, instead, to hold the beating heart of fur extended
over the porches wooden rail while in between instructions given, followed in hypnotic
an unheard wail began to rise up from the dying child
the one who soon would be compelled to be the one to take up the rabbit,
to remove it from the warm safe hiding place near the child’s own beating heart
where safely held had been carried all that day unaware that death did lay ahead for both.
Then mother told the child to sin,
forced the child to sin.
Backed actions by the father who stood close by within a striking distance.
A distance the boy had unplanned explored before
witnessed, viewed, felt and knew.
So, holding there the tiny, tired, living, beating heart,
the rabbit in his hands,
the child creature,
was forced to pour the uncaring killing liquid.
Inward to the boys bleeding soul rushed a sudden evil thrill,
a sensation never felt by him before.
Walls began to break and fall.
A heart did die that day!
As wicked evil did dance and play
and to the child did voiceless drunken call.
Two hearts lost a battle.
One the victim.
One the killer.
The tiny beating heart squirmed and fought the drowning of its life.
While the capturers turned stone and dark lured, seduced by the sin.
And, oh how that tiny thing it fought,
oh how it terrible went to sleep
hanging limp from the child’s hated hand
a hand that had not meant at all to harm.
But then and now it became a hated thing
attached to a creature not known before
one who, resisting temptations for any show of feeling,
from that day forward fought emotions
and died within as did the life in hands the creature stole.
And, oh God, how the liquid surely must have burned,
must have scored the open eyes surprised and searching for the surface
where clean air might be found.
How the deadly, ill tasting liquid ran down the throat.
While, amid the death carrying flow, the creature stood and thoughts raced, collided,
slammed into an unknown shore which within the beast had surfaced,
prior held in check,
not known before.
And through an open door all sense of tenderness did outward rush
the mind was then in full flush
throwing off parts felt not needed anymore,
while screaming in a hush of sound
where no note of music could be found.
All lost to me.
Now loosed from innocence, the boy child inward collapsed.
Collapsed beyond repair.
Collapsed beyond despair.
The creature now ruled from a secret lair.
While such a wretched sin filled act upon the very face of nature,
upon innocence which then came crumbling in and stood in shock,
then faded from the child’s cursed sight while the murdering creatures father stood with
hands on hips and in silence watched.
Stunned eyes, corners, turned to see him there,
and the rabbit urinated and soiled itself;
then it fell limp in the child’s filthy, slimy, murderous hands.
Mother made me store it in a waiting shoe box,
which the child, along with a shovel, had been sent to fetch.
With the shovel the woman told the child to quickly bury it alive,
out of sight, a secret, dismal spot,
to bury it behind the garage in a secret spot before it woke.
To pick a secret spot, one which she, this mother, could not see.
A secret spot left up to the child to pick.
A secret spot where upwelling pain still my life this day lays claim.
A secret spot where my thoughts often go.
A place where my breath takes leave of me in an echoed gasp,
echoed from so long ago;
and I sink beneath the layer of soil
to slip into that box of horror where, from me, something faded and something unfolded.
And, rising up, gaze upon the porch where I did as told so long ago,
and yet the wound still bleeds,
it has never closed,
it still bleeds and haunts me so that I should have felt a thrill upon the kill,
felt wickedness drive in a jagged wedge, and in the burial act while alone there crying,
while inward dying, kneeling upon the moist dark soil, the closed box in hand,
the tears began to stop that day and prayers to God turned from love to hatred hot.
And so we come now to the stories end,
yet still in the beginning for me
as t’is not ended
nor ever shall be
for in my mind’s wretched, pain filled, mutilated eye
I see what should not be seen,
a baby rabbit in a box,
a tiny thing
left to die alone in darkness,
no kindness there, no one to watch, or offer comfort so.
Just a tiny thing, alone in a tiny shoe box, shoved in a hole
a filthy hole to let it die, oh, God, I wish that I could truly cry!
Such mental trickery I play on me.
For thieves wait there to weaken me.
I look up at the sky and scream at the God who foolish made me
please, dear God, let me die, please let me fade and never be,
place the debt, the crime, upon my soul for even without that being truly so
it lays there heavy and will not pass through any fabled gate of heaven,
nor do I wish to ever go
when such deeds are so easy given.
And close my eyes as I did that rabbit in that tiny box
for in wretched shame I live and have lived all these years
and I thus shall rail at thee and demand my satisfaction.
I beckon thee to battle, to draw your blade, to pick up your shield and come at me
and fight with me
and I scream at thee and they for what truth could ever be true I took and slew in horror
False truth, feigned kindness, fell naked before me that day.
With my own blade I slew it there
and let the blood run and stain the worthless soil,
stain my hands with shame and blame and yet
I only see the wetness there where a cut
could easy cross the veins with only the act left to do upon a coins simple yes or no toss.
For there would not be any tangible loss
if acted upon my thoughts I did and flipped the coin.
A mind raped, fragmented, the body shell is left empty in suffering to stand upon the
Dear God I’m cursed.
My blade is drawn and would that I could fight the demons of my soul
and slay them one by one until my shield is weary low and then your strike would set the
and be done with me for in truth I shall never be able to rest and stop a steed of hate
upon which I ride and to that end I speed myself at thee
and scream, but no voice is heard,
I rend my clothes, yet the clothes be not torn,
I cry, yet tears cannot, will not fall from me
I fall upon my knees, my face, I grovel in the dust
yet find myself standing still surrounded, dipped in horror, filled with a sick and wordless thrill and would
upward thrust a blade and end this song if could
but find myself held by thee and so,
blindness waiting there to capture me
I slip myself within that box, long rotted now,
but in my mind the same as the day I placed it in that hole
to lay next to and touch that soft fur in death matted
with urine and feces and coated with the stench of a sleeping poison
for trapped I am with a tiny rabbit in a box,
trapped forever more,
with a still heart that once did beat
and in safety slept
and, then, was murdered by my hand
that day as defenseless did it lay.
Then quickly buried, quickly hidden, quickly stuffed in a box,
to be forgotten;
and, only I know where the shovel dug the hole,
only I know where I placed the box that held the tiny sleeping soul.
I did as bid and kept the secret to myself.
I did as bid,
while those that birthed me,
without a word,
went for coffee and a Danish roll.