05-31-2012, 06:07 PM
Take me out for our last parade
to spin me in dizzy circles of the carousel
before you love me and leave me behind
gazing emptily at silent skies
a fist full of ashes to smoke through the bong
I used to think symbolized our love
And it feels like forever could hide
in every heaving breath of smoke inhaled
when we’re going out and we’re coming home
to the skeleton of a house filled
with could-have-been’s
fucking the ghosts of should-have-been’s
The only place we’re still us
a torn and tangled mess of clothes
scattered through with the ink stains
of love stories untold in keyed-out hearts
whispering forever in every outward breath
that only led us closer to post-fuck cigarettes
So take me out just one more time
to dance high among the moon beams
dizzy and laughing, purged momentarily
of our lovely failings, lost on the carousel
before I love you and leave you behind
to gather the ashes you’ll smoke up in the bong
remembering our last parade
I do like this poem and the images I used here, it was a lot of fun to write, though in hindsight it doesn't make much sense. To me this is two poems rolled into one; the skeleton home with the post-fuck cigarettes, and the last parade. I did however write them as one poem, and untangling them is going to be interesting.
to spin me in dizzy circles of the carousel
before you love me and leave me behind
gazing emptily at silent skies
a fist full of ashes to smoke through the bong
I used to think symbolized our love
And it feels like forever could hide
in every heaving breath of smoke inhaled
when we’re going out and we’re coming home
to the skeleton of a house filled
with could-have-been’s
fucking the ghosts of should-have-been’s
The only place we’re still us
a torn and tangled mess of clothes
scattered through with the ink stains
of love stories untold in keyed-out hearts
whispering forever in every outward breath
that only led us closer to post-fuck cigarettes
So take me out just one more time
to dance high among the moon beams
dizzy and laughing, purged momentarily
of our lovely failings, lost on the carousel
before I love you and leave you behind
to gather the ashes you’ll smoke up in the bong
remembering our last parade
I do like this poem and the images I used here, it was a lot of fun to write, though in hindsight it doesn't make much sense. To me this is two poems rolled into one; the skeleton home with the post-fuck cigarettes, and the last parade. I did however write them as one poem, and untangling them is going to be interesting.
"Poets are shameless with their experiences: they exploit them." - Friedrich Nietzsche

