Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2016
"welcome all,"
said the porcelain girl
i might as well of figured,
"it's the end of the world".

                            the leaves have consumed
                                      all the colour of trees
                             and the crown of creation
                                             is the matriarchy

"so, please hear me out,"
you know what I mean
when they whisper and shout
of the ghost in the stream

                                "dead in the dishwater".
                                         dark as her dreams
                        "dredged from the dillinger".
                                  drown in their screams

a shuffle of vines
their flowers in twine
head like a trumpet
more toxic than wine

                                            fingers bewitched
                                           fangs set to twitch
                                          at any disturbance
                                                  imp­ulses fixed

showered in doubt
he lets out a shout:
"fire all cylinders
into its mouth".

                                        jaw clamping down
                                    neck spinning around
                           as the struggle for freedom
                                drags him to the ground

ire of conviction
penance for three
digits he lost
to the teeth of a tree

                                             mind seeping out
                                   at the cost of his greed
                                          feeding the hunger
                                        the fervor, the need

delirious scorn
impossibly mourns
for any exception
"it may as well of warned,"

                                    them of the powerless
                                        thrashing with heed
                                       "gone like a pacifist".
                                            trapped in the sea

"oh welcome back,"
said the foliage freed
of the tactile sensation
that sprouts from its seed

                                          kept on consuming
                                      prescription exhaust
                                      the mental excursion
                                                     of sanity lost

"cowards with parachutes,"
"capsules and pills,"
eyes like a retinal scan
"searching for thrills".

                                           foraging, festering
                                        freelancing hallows
                                   cross breeding plants  
                            ‘til the metronome follows

powered by irony
clad in his wit
acts without judgement,
"like they give a ****".

                                          "emptying bottles,"
                            he whimpers and wallows
                                    and keeps losing track
                           of the number he swallows

sepia countryside
stowing their lives
his thoughts becomes nothing,
but, "fractals and knives".

                         with rainbows come ecstasy
                                              dour to the brim
                                      his state of exclusion
                                       lacks whimsy or vim

demanding them all back,
"what the hell's this?"
a handful of circlets
clasped to his wrist

                                           pattern of entropy
                                             has its own plans
                                  but some intrepid hero
                                  keeps swallowing them

"so welcome now,"
to the end of line
"i should've made assumptions,  
i'd be losing my mind".

                    "they wanna watch me dancin'
                                           like a marionette",
                          but ‘til they pull the skin off
                                       i'm filled with regret

if that was my first take,
"what was my name?"
can someone explain
all the smoke and the flame

                               "i can't understand you".
                                 your words are so thick
                    and the voices are whispering,
                                               "you don't exist"
45 Words About Birds
Written by
45 Words About Birds  . ... . . ..
(. ... . . ..)   
4.8k
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems