02-08-2015, 06:44 AM
Edited
My God, do you hear
my heart thumping in lags
and stutters
like the melody of a drunkard’s
midnight ballad, riveting and broken
bolting into the bosom of night
plucking petals and waiting for dawn’s
sobering hues to revive me once again?
or Lord, the way I move my hips
to the wind of his moans
and shed my cocooning clothes at the
mouth of his apartment door
Undoing and fluttering about—
a butterfly stitched
in all of his
lusty townsman sins
Well, do You see how
I transform into drums and trumpets
my hellish stride,
a glassy brushstroke against your holy skies,
my hands a basket of all these lies
they fed me in your muddied name
and I lost my mind dancing
through the storm of blades
that tore my faith asunder
once I found that I was yet again
a pawn in a religious game
God, can you hear me?
I am pain and painting
Embodied: I am art
in her rotting flesh
I am sad and depressed
I am pastel and way past
my patience,
I am wearing weariness
on my neck,
his grip has tightened
I have had enough,
of these yellow trials and tribulations
I am your mad masterpiece!
I am art!
How come you feel nothing?
~ I don't know if any kind of explanation is necessary but I think it might be for this particular poem. I wrote this a few days ago. I was feeling feverish, angry and severely upset... By the time I wrote the final stanzas, I had been crying. I was enraged. As I reflect on it, it feels very stream of consciousness, even delirious in a way. What do you guys think? I would love any and all suggestions, criticisms, ideas I could get. I don't think it's great or anything but I specifically chose to share it because it poured out of me in a cathartic blur almost.
Anyway, I am rambling as I very often tend to. Thank you all in advance!
My God, do you hear
my heart thumping in lags
and stutters
like the melody of a drunkard’s
midnight ballad, riveting and broken
bolting into the bosom of night
plucking petals and waiting for dawn’s
sobering hues to revive me once again?
or Lord, the way I move my hips
to the wind of his moans
and shed my cocooning clothes at the
mouth of his apartment door
Undoing and fluttering about—
a butterfly stitched
in all of his
lusty townsman sins
Well, do You see how
I transform into drums and trumpets
my hellish stride,
a glassy brushstroke against your holy skies,
my hands a basket of all these lies
they fed me in your muddied name
and I lost my mind dancing
through the storm of blades
that tore my faith asunder
once I found that I was yet again
a pawn in a religious game
God, can you hear me?
I am pain and painting
Embodied: I am art
in her rotting flesh
I am sad and depressed
I am pastel and way past
my patience,
I am wearing weariness
on my neck,
his grip has tightened
I have had enough,
of these yellow trials and tribulations
I am your mad masterpiece!
I am art!
How come you feel nothing?
~ I don't know if any kind of explanation is necessary but I think it might be for this particular poem. I wrote this a few days ago. I was feeling feverish, angry and severely upset... By the time I wrote the final stanzas, I had been crying. I was enraged. As I reflect on it, it feels very stream of consciousness, even delirious in a way. What do you guys think? I would love any and all suggestions, criticisms, ideas I could get. I don't think it's great or anything but I specifically chose to share it because it poured out of me in a cathartic blur almost.
Anyway, I am rambling as I very often tend to. Thank you all in advance!