put me, lovingly, in a hearse, the way the dusk lays it shadows; the night threatens to spill off my pores trying to run from lonely places — now, it bleeds all over me. a sight of a mess. a sight of horrors and no napkins for wiping. no napkins for grieving. some just don't make it out alive.
tell the daylight i cannot come.
put me, lovingly, in a hearse. no, i am not made for burials — it's for the ones left behind; tell them all
i cannot come.
leave me, my sweet one, lying in this hearse, the way the dusk leaves its shadows in the arms of the night. sweet and fragile. quiet and gone. send me off, softly. send me off, mourning. send me off, for good.
If you must tell a lie, do so well - Lies likely fall apart Often crumbling due to bumbling A speakers deadly demise My passion is the lonely lie Lone creates shine A lie must deliver cleverly Or all would align -
A poetic imitation of Emily Dickinson's "Tell all the truth but tell it slant" I did for my poetry class.
My mother said they say the dead are blessed but i don't think so,
i wake to my dream's afterimage overlaying the ceiling;i stay laid in place envisioning myself gorged in holy water, purging away any memory hitherto
but that's just not the way it goes; Sat here as the vinyl needle scratches the same scabs,as a tired revolver—
leaks **** of sound,thick repitidous clouds which lead to nowhere and nothing—
a bored, ambient crackle,
In the poetic spirit, it reeks of home but reminds me I am I, alone
And in the conversing-sense it gives me a ******* migraine,
it was one of W—’s favourites when it's tune was still entact
But alas, it is what it is, outside is a world i've grown too sore to mingle in (dare i say a multiform delirium where it's both too typical and too unpredictable ((daren't i blame another reason?))) Regardless,i'll stay inside another day
and skim and retrace the life that brought us here to **** the time.