Endless commodification of feelings
Ads, media, envy, peeling and tearing
Lives and deaths, nothing truly genuine
No escape not even if I put a pen on it
There is nothing, absolutely nothing
Not a word or people talking
Not a soul
Not a soul
Not a soul found in our new zeitgeist!
No new soul to protect us in our new life!
I'm tired, my mind is withering away
My hands convulse in confusion when I touch the keyboard
I'm not a writer, nor a lover
Just a simple man, with a simple mind
Realizations came about, once I departed
Poetry just wasn't for me and neither were you.
I use poetry when my heart aches for someone or I go through rainfalls of pity. I use poetry for mental stability instead of facing the problems head on. I shouldn't "use" poems, this art form should be using me. This is my goodbye poem.
Covered in tick,tacks and apple sauce, forgetting juice boxes and blasting songs, flaming ashes flying up my nose. The smoke envelopes, dreams of a girl with short hair inhales my vision like the ******* on the dash board, or the gas we breath. I'm falling in love, I'm covered by pollen, I'm dying for love, I'm covering pollen. Short breaths and small asthma attacks in the back. The heat from the front seat leaving me charred. Your smiling face on the pavement as I lay next. I finally understand
He asks her to write a song for him,
She composes for him, her poetry...
He asks her to tell him a bed-time story
She lulls him with her poetry...
He asks her to sing a song for him,
She recites to him her poetry...
He asks her to dance with him,
She moves him with her poetry...
He asks her, to be his girl.
She smiles, *and gives him her poetry...
Poetry is what makes her.
She was the music of the night
Sang the sirens bewitching songs
Luring men high up the mountain slopes
Her beauty to gaze upon
But was she real or just a myth
This lady of the night
None will know for none returned
Of the young men who left in the dark
But still her haunting melodies
Fill the mountain glens
Beautiful clear crystal tones
That invade the minds of men
Who is she? What is she?
Whose songs have such haunting power
Songs that echo 'cross the mountain slopes
The minds of men to snare
Perhaps its just the mountain winds
Echoing round trees and slopes
None will ever know
For none has ever seen the one
Who sings the music of the night
I just fancied trying something completely different to my usual stuff. Let me know what you think
Vaya Con Dios, she said as she walked off, into the foggy abyss.
I return to my position on the stage and pick up my saxophone
Everyone in shock and awe at the argument that just took place.
A mother crying out in fear
A body laying on the floor; lifeless
Whats worst than losing a son.
My mind in the skies
I cry into my saxophone
As its slowly drowned out by the sirens
I think to myself, don’t worry my darling; I will be with him shortly
I pull out my gun at the end of my solo. The gun that the second I bought, it was predestined
“Don’t worry my darling”
With the lick of a lollipop, you gain my affection. Forgetting everything, but the saxophone in the corner, possibly the stares will stay. winter is around the corner or was it spring? I can’t remember, my mind is filled with pop rocks and soda. Stars burst as you laugh, creating juicy flavours that spill out over the world. Allowing people to laugh and cry. Jolly ranchers, farming for the last echo of your laughter. I imagine the juicy fruits crying out of joy as they pull them out of the ground and pick them from the vines. I can’t stop caring I can’t stop enjoying my time staring. Its who I am. I obsess over ones I can’t have. Its my curse. Black liquorice, filled with the dark liquor. My mind wrapped up, twizzler. I’m attracted to ones that are a shelf above me. I’m a yellow star burst, thrown into a bowl of rejected m&ms; and skittles.
Your candy flavoured lips covered in bright sugar and harden sprinkles. How many small glances does it take to get to the center of your heart. Stuck in the centre of my tootsie pop,beating on the glass made of pre chewed gum. I can’t see where I’m going. Getting my hands stuck. Replicating what you gave me the first time we met. I filled my empty stomach with sweets. Not so sweet now that I think about it. 40 winks and telephone calls, Small glances and hard gum *****. My obsession will be the end of me. From the chosen one to the brunette, to the lesbian. I’m stuck in an endless cycle of headaches and sick stomachs. All this candy wasn’t good for me.