06-20-2012, 08:55 PM
I originally constructed this a year ago... Gave it a quick tidy before posting it here. I'd like to refine this into something good. I'm fond of this. I think it marked my first real step into poetry.
I can't decide how to format it! Three big stanza or six small?
----------------
v.2
No memory of how it got to this,
everything is in sepia, rewind,
like an old photograph, this is bliss,
the smoke becomes the smog of mind.
Somewhere distant a guitar thrums low,
disjointed melody, harmony broken,
sound is bleak and drums beat slow,
no singing, the words are unspoken.
Shaking, waking for another hit,
airless, yet each breath feels so cold,
soft around the edges, we submit,
dust lies upon our time untold.
Crawling into this broken paradise,
we wallow in our forsaken rapture,
for this secret delight, pay dire price,
old life that we can never recapture.
Into the gutter, nothing but litter,
there is a sick glamour to my mess,
I'm already dead so I'm not bitter,
no love to mourn, no sin to confess.
The knight of brown industrial waste,
now ready to chase the dragon again,
but truthfully it's just me being chased,
here in this wonderfully filthy den.
----------------
v.1 pre-edit
No memory of how it got to this,
everything is in sepia, rewind,
like an old photograph, this is bliss,
the smoke becomes the smog of mind.
Somewhere distant guitar thrums low,
disjointed melody, harmony broken,
sound is bleak and drums beat slow,
no singing, the words are unspoken.
Shaking, waking, for another hit,
airless yet the air feels so cold,
soft around the edges, we submit,
dust lies upon our time untold.
Crawling into this broken paradise,
we wallow in our forsaken rapture,
for this secret delight, pay dire price,
a life that we can never recapture.
The knight of brown industrial waste,
now ready to chase the dragon again,
but truthfully it's just me being chased,
here in this filthy wonderful den.
Into the gutter, nothing but litter,
there is a sick glamour to my mess,
I'm already dead so I'm not bitter,
no love to mourn, no sin to confess.
I can't decide how to format it! Three big stanza or six small?
----------------
v.2
No memory of how it got to this,
everything is in sepia, rewind,
like an old photograph, this is bliss,
the smoke becomes the smog of mind.
Somewhere distant a guitar thrums low,
disjointed melody, harmony broken,
sound is bleak and drums beat slow,
no singing, the words are unspoken.
Shaking, waking for another hit,
airless, yet each breath feels so cold,
soft around the edges, we submit,
dust lies upon our time untold.
Crawling into this broken paradise,
we wallow in our forsaken rapture,
for this secret delight, pay dire price,
old life that we can never recapture.
Into the gutter, nothing but litter,
there is a sick glamour to my mess,
I'm already dead so I'm not bitter,
no love to mourn, no sin to confess.
The knight of brown industrial waste,
now ready to chase the dragon again,
but truthfully it's just me being chased,
here in this wonderfully filthy den.
----------------
v.1 pre-edit
No memory of how it got to this,
everything is in sepia, rewind,
like an old photograph, this is bliss,
the smoke becomes the smog of mind.
Somewhere distant guitar thrums low,
disjointed melody, harmony broken,
sound is bleak and drums beat slow,
no singing, the words are unspoken.
Shaking, waking, for another hit,
airless yet the air feels so cold,
soft around the edges, we submit,
dust lies upon our time untold.
Crawling into this broken paradise,
we wallow in our forsaken rapture,
for this secret delight, pay dire price,
a life that we can never recapture.
The knight of brown industrial waste,
now ready to chase the dragon again,
but truthfully it's just me being chased,
here in this filthy wonderful den.
Into the gutter, nothing but litter,
there is a sick glamour to my mess,
I'm already dead so I'm not bitter,
no love to mourn, no sin to confess.