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Andrew Watson Apr 2020
pixel woman
draped in scarlet
strum for the heavens
hang my troubles
from every silver note

my sins lay bare
each stroke
painted fingers
through peroxide hair

false alarms
ring rusted red
she sings my skin

when doubts conceal
the chosen path
her sapphire
ripples settle

melt my adolescence
I am new-born
in bitter
sweet ballad

her song,
my future
peeled and played
by warm-chord haze
of long-gone days
a discussion of my love for watching Joni Mitchell's live performances, particularly her 1983 rendition of 'Amelia', which allowed me to come to terms with a monumental life decision.
Andrew Watson Mar 2020
flickered souls
who mourn at night
accumulate to swallow

shredded strings
battered snare
these months
weren’t easy,
tonight is

watch sorrow
and morph into
rivers of

we are
a sacred congregation
in blasphemous glory
all good things
come in

forget the man
the lies
and cry
i always wanna die

long for nothing
crave it all
is this how it feels?
to be young?
I went to a 1975 gig and it was life-changing ok
Andrew Watson Mar 2020
hold me
in the dead of night
when no one else will

wear me
a rusted red bangle
choke my freedom

spare me
when angels are around
consume me when
they fly

float from
the mouths of those
who say they
love me

i trust no other voice
but your shrieking

they tell me they
love me
they tell me
you tell me
tell me
love me
a poem about needing constant reassurance - and how loneliness can make you doubt the legitimacy of even those who love you the most

— The End —