Browsing through the Blue
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with baby butt-faces
or future models striking poses
but with sickness.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with pictures of yummy cake
or memetically calculated heartbreak
but with silence.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with doodled-out distraction
or silly slogans for inspiration
but with sorrow.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with the stench of a wild night
or empty promises of morning light
but with sleep.
Final draft (but perhaps not the final title):
Browsing through the Blue
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with baby butt-faces
or future models striking poses
but with sickness.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with pictures of yummy cake
or memetically calculated heartbreak
but with silence.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with doodled-out distraction
or silly slogans for inspiration
but with sorrow.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with the stench of a wild night
or empty promises of morning light
but with sleep.
First draft:
A bit of a note: the awkward rhyming is intended, to add a sense of dissonance to the poem. Hope that idea works out. (This note still applies for the new draft)
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with baby butt-faces
or future models striking poses
but with sickness.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with pictures of yummy cake
or memetically calculated heartbreak
but with silence.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with doodled-out distraction
or silly slogans for inspiration
but with sorrow.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with the stench of a wild night
or empty promises of morning light
but with sleep.
Final draft (but perhaps not the final title):
Browsing through the Blue
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with baby butt-faces
or future models striking poses
but with sickness.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with pictures of yummy cake
or memetically calculated heartbreak
but with silence.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with doodled-out distraction
or silly slogans for inspiration
but with sorrow.
Someday, my wall
will be filled not with the stench of a wild night
or empty promises of morning light
but with sleep.
First draft:
A bit of a note: the awkward rhyming is intended, to add a sense of dissonance to the poem. Hope that idea works out. (This note still applies for the new draft)