Aug 2015
Trapped between 4 closing walls, dripping down to grey under fluorescent lighting.
Shooting bullets into the swirling clouds overhead, (trembling arms) misguided passion contained by your choir of puppets and strings.
Raven in a field of crows fallen down between the rows of corn and smothered by mounds of empty bottles stacking high towards the heavens,
As down towards the underworld the red blood seeps turning black earth grotesque shades of crimson, bubbling in the intense heat.
It’s so easy to give way to the current behind the closed door as we find our bodies sprawling out along the hillside fresh and sparkling with the tears from the sky (and our cheeks).
Your dim basement sets the scene for the beautiful experimentation where the walls are no more than cement and barriers from prying eyes.
In a haze of passion we indulge our problems, hatred, loveless souls with pointless ***** and meaningless *** that does little more to help than delude our dismal existence.
With a stumbling trod we help each other back home (like we always do) with glittering fields of shrapnel shards blinding our eyes with reflected moonlight.
In a trail of destruction we set the sidewalks aflame in a whirlwind blaze where we wait this out.
A world on fire; finding refuge in the heavily medicated masses as my broken back gives way to pressure of the dense fog overhead.
Housed back in your empty expectations and delirious confusion you build me a tomb of papers and pews.
Misguided by hidden eyes luring you with a melody of golden string cell bars, as you wander like Shepard-less sheep.
You grab me with your venom breath and razor claws, trying to pull me down to your personal hell of - crufixholymonumentspriestscommandmentstemplesjesusmarymosesbloodyhypocritical *******.
And in the misty stale green air where I can barely see my own hand (let alone your glazed over eyes) you build the nerve
in your ******* arrogant throne
to ask me
why I’m bitter.
Shooting bullets into the swirling clouds overhead, (trembling arms) misguided passion contained by your choir of puppets and strings.
Raven in a field of crows fallen down between the rows of corn and smothered by mounds of empty bottles stacking high towards the heavens,
As down towards the underworld the red blood seeps turning black earth grotesque shades of crimson, bubbling in the intense heat.
It’s so easy to give way to the current behind the closed door as we find our bodies sprawling out along the hillside fresh and sparkling with the tears from the sky (and our cheeks).
Your dim basement sets the scene for the beautiful experimentation where the walls are no more than cement and barriers from prying eyes.
In a haze of passion we indulge our problems, hatred, loveless souls with pointless ***** and meaningless *** that does little more to help than delude our dismal existence.
With a stumbling trod we help each other back home (like we always do) with glittering fields of shrapnel shards blinding our eyes with reflected moonlight.
In a trail of destruction we set the sidewalks aflame in a whirlwind blaze where we wait this out.
A world on fire; finding refuge in the heavily medicated masses as my broken back gives way to pressure of the dense fog overhead.
Housed back in your empty expectations and delirious confusion you build me a tomb of papers and pews.
Misguided by hidden eyes luring you with a melody of golden string cell bars, as you wander like Shepard-less sheep.
You grab me with your venom breath and razor claws, trying to pull me down to your personal hell of - crufixholymonumentspriestscommandmentstemplesjesusmarymosesbloodyhypocritical *******.
And in the misty stale green air where I can barely see my own hand (let alone your glazed over eyes) you build the nerve
in your ******* arrogant throne
to ask me
why I’m bitter.
This was done in for an assignment in high school. The idea was to mimic the beat poetry style of Allen Ginsberg in Howl.
