can I read you some of my poems?
behind you face, your cringing
from the corner of your eye
you’re looking for an escape
but I’ve already dragged you to a booth in the bar,
and I got you alone and you feel the
unease rising and there’s nowhere to run
you’re stuck and I’m pulling out my
little poetry book with the fairy on the cover
and I have you alone, all to myself
and I’m sharpening the rusted tools of torture
so squirm
here come the words
they’re bouncing off your glazed eyes
and you feel every one
they’re hard to make out over the bar racket
but the ones you can make out are
I, He, My, Miss, Love, Death, Lament and Autumn Leaves
the words inspire,
the nagging need for more gin
a bullet free from its chamber
splatter brain bits
a death letter
or for someone to save you
and over the slur of my tired lines
you see your friends safely ignoring you
in a group holding beer torches
miles and miles away
they’re laughing and you hate them
because you’re stuck with me
and I won’t stop
no end in sight
I have so much feeling
that I want you to know about
not enough gin
your face hurts from smiling
your head hurts from nodding
a hostage’s sentiment
and then I ask,
what do you think?
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC
can I read you some of my poems?
behind you face, your cringing
from the corner of your eye
you’re looking for an escape
but I’ve already dragged you to a booth in the bar,
and I got you alone and you feel the
unease rising and there’s nowhere to run
you’re stuck and I’m pulling out my
little poetry book with the fairy on the cover
and I have you alone, all to myself
and I’m sharpening the rusted tools of torture
so squirm
here come the words
they’re bouncing off your glazed eyes
and you feel every one
they’re hard to make out over the bar racket
but the ones you can make out are
I, He, My, Miss, Love, Death, Lament and Autumn Leaves
the words inspire,
the nagging need for more gin
a bullet free from its chamber
splatter brain bits
a death letter
or for someone to save you
and over the slur of my tired lines
you see your friends safely ignoring you
in a group holding beer torches
miles and miles away
they’re laughing and you hate them
because you’re stuck with me
and I won’t stop
no end in sight
I have so much feeling
that I want you to know about
not enough gin
your face hurts from smiling
your head hurts from nodding
a hostage’s sentiment
and then I ask,
what do you think?
