Here's my poetry :]
I copied && pasted it from my other blog on myspace:
26-03-2007 12:26am
Don't read them one after the other, geez a few moments in between to think about it, yeahhh? (H)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The Bird.
And so she sits, folded up,
Her toes pointed inwards.
With this resigned collapse,
she begins to think.
Thinking about death,
And how difficult it is.
Thinking about life.
And how easy it is.
And she cries,
because she has it so much better,
so much better than she deserves.
So much better than him.
Hands a helping wing,
hand,
paw...
But he doesn't want to touch her,
this monstrosity.
And so she weeps,
never loved,
forever sobbing.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The Sun.
With its bright glare,
glowering upon the Earth,
it weeps these radiant lines
of cancer and fatigue.
It sees what we cannot.
It sees the future death.
The present ignorance.
The past pollutants.
And how hopeless we are to this burning death.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Empire.
He sits on his throne
and wonders what he's done,
what he's done to deserve this, contemplates.
As his palace,
his empire,
his castle,
his kingdom,
comes crashing down before his eyes.
He sits,
relaxed posture,
tense muscles,
beading brow,
tears falling,
as he looks back on his past regrets,
past failure,
failed pastures,
as he awaits the death of his short-lived reign.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Empty.
This hollow vessel,
this glass full of nothingness,
was not born for your idiocy.
It was made for so much more than this,
this pathetic facade of re-enactions.
Time and time again.
Let's do the time warp again.
Again again again.
There's no point in trying.
If you don't truly understand,
your words of empathy,
sympathy,
are pointless if you don't know,
no clue,
how to complete me.
I just need you.
You and your love.
Let's stop this act and face reality.
It won't hurt if we hold hands.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Reflection.
Disgust.
Repulse.
Glare glare of the light upon the dirty mirror.
Grime.
Dust.
Glare glare at your feeble body, empty stomach.
Vomit.
Starve.
Glare glare at your face of pallor, of near death.
Desparation.
Perfection.
Turn that frown, upside down.
Up, down and all around.
"Cheer up, chuck".
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Beautiful.
You're so beautiful.
Each of your imperfections,
every single fucking one,
I dream about.
Each of your miserable flaws,
every single fucking one,
I dream about.
This beauty,
unheard of.
This love,
mere infatuation.
With this realisation,
this mockery,
humiliation,
devastation,
I hear your laugh.
It trickles, like a stream,
gurgles, as it fills me up
and spills over.
This vicious cycle,
circle,
sphere,
begins,
returns,
once again,
once more.
You're so beautiful.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Highway.
This modern invention,
"Intervention!"
comes crashing through
yet another.
He looks from above,
at all these monsters,
sinister creations,
"Intervention!"
devastation creators,
ignores your pleading,
"Intervention!"
and damns you all.
Although,
he realises,
acknowledges,
"Intervention!"
its pointlessness.
You have created your own apocolypse,
"Confession!"
and you will suffer from this ignorance.
"Resignation!"
He's sorry,
but not really.
He can re-start the game now.
Game over.
"Revelation!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Eyes.
Something magical,
mystical,
unnatural,
supernatural,
just fucking weird.
Windows into your soul,
image capturers,
life neccesity,
just fucking weird.
Open wide.
Say aah.
Oh me, oh my.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Stop.
Don't close.
Open 24/7.
All hours, all days.
Dust gatherers.
Bacteria digesting
enzymes.
Insert spoon,
shovel,
scoop,
dig,
lift
out.
Empty sockets.
Empty soul.
Bleeding gaps,
slash slash.
It's all the same,
just more extreme.
I wanted your eyes,
now, I have them.
They're fucking weird.
Slimy.
Squishy.
Squelch.
What is the sound of a foot crushing an eyeball on the floor?
I now know.
Indescribable.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
CREDIT: Chuck Palahniuk, Jostein Gaarder, The Knife.
Obviously, they could do with some touching up but not bad for my first poems in over a year
I've missed this.
xx
26-03-2007 12:26am
Don't read them one after the other, geez a few moments in between to think about it, yeahhh? (H)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The Bird.
And so she sits, folded up,
Her toes pointed inwards.
With this resigned collapse,
she begins to think.
Thinking about death,
And how difficult it is.
Thinking about life.
And how easy it is.
And she cries,
because she has it so much better,
so much better than she deserves.
So much better than him.
Hands a helping wing,
hand,
paw...
But he doesn't want to touch her,
this monstrosity.
And so she weeps,
never loved,
forever sobbing.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The Sun.
With its bright glare,
glowering upon the Earth,
it weeps these radiant lines
of cancer and fatigue.
It sees what we cannot.
It sees the future death.
The present ignorance.
The past pollutants.
And how hopeless we are to this burning death.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Empire.
He sits on his throne
and wonders what he's done,
what he's done to deserve this, contemplates.
As his palace,
his empire,
his castle,
his kingdom,
comes crashing down before his eyes.
He sits,
relaxed posture,
tense muscles,
beading brow,
tears falling,
as he looks back on his past regrets,
past failure,
failed pastures,
as he awaits the death of his short-lived reign.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Empty.
This hollow vessel,
this glass full of nothingness,
was not born for your idiocy.
It was made for so much more than this,
this pathetic facade of re-enactions.
Time and time again.
Let's do the time warp again.
Again again again.
There's no point in trying.
If you don't truly understand,
your words of empathy,
sympathy,
are pointless if you don't know,
no clue,
how to complete me.
I just need you.
You and your love.
Let's stop this act and face reality.
It won't hurt if we hold hands.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Reflection.
Disgust.
Repulse.
Glare glare of the light upon the dirty mirror.
Grime.
Dust.
Glare glare at your feeble body, empty stomach.
Vomit.
Starve.
Glare glare at your face of pallor, of near death.
Desparation.
Perfection.
Turn that frown, upside down.
Up, down and all around.
"Cheer up, chuck".
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Beautiful.
You're so beautiful.
Each of your imperfections,
every single fucking one,
I dream about.
Each of your miserable flaws,
every single fucking one,
I dream about.
This beauty,
unheard of.
This love,
mere infatuation.
With this realisation,
this mockery,
humiliation,
devastation,
I hear your laugh.
It trickles, like a stream,
gurgles, as it fills me up
and spills over.
This vicious cycle,
circle,
sphere,
begins,
returns,
once again,
once more.
You're so beautiful.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Highway.
This modern invention,
"Intervention!"
comes crashing through
yet another.
He looks from above,
at all these monsters,
sinister creations,
"Intervention!"
devastation creators,
ignores your pleading,
"Intervention!"
and damns you all.
Although,
he realises,
acknowledges,
"Intervention!"
its pointlessness.
You have created your own apocolypse,
"Confession!"
and you will suffer from this ignorance.
"Resignation!"
He's sorry,
but not really.
He can re-start the game now.
Game over.
"Revelation!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Eyes.
Something magical,
mystical,
unnatural,
supernatural,
just fucking weird.
Windows into your soul,
image capturers,
life neccesity,
just fucking weird.
Open wide.
Say aah.
Oh me, oh my.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Stop.
Don't close.
Open 24/7.
All hours, all days.
Dust gatherers.
Bacteria digesting
enzymes.
Insert spoon,
shovel,
scoop,
dig,
lift
out.
Empty sockets.
Empty soul.
Bleeding gaps,
slash slash.
It's all the same,
just more extreme.
I wanted your eyes,
now, I have them.
They're fucking weird.
Slimy.
Squishy.
Squelch.
What is the sound of a foot crushing an eyeball on the floor?
I now know.
Indescribable.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
CREDIT: Chuck Palahniuk, Jostein Gaarder, The Knife.
Obviously, they could do with some touching up but not bad for my first poems in over a year
I've missed this.
xx
