Death of a Rose
Dynamic convulsion, stretched and bending.
Spare me the twitches.
Spare the heart beat.
A shadow, a timed movie.
Favorites last forever.
Glimpses last while you are staring at the ceiling.
I'm an idiot playing with fools
and the fools are winning.
Description will never be enough.
Describe a page,
Laughing at the chords;
And speckle finely a blackness,
watch it drift away.
My words, while I write are confused and true. I like to think of hidden meanings.
And similies are constant.
but true thought always betrays consideration of pages taken away;
Pages turned and pages clicked, pages retraced.
Grab me at my lowest
wrestle my supposed ego.
Tray a nameless see, make it flourish. Call a dictionary as referee. WHO CARES!!
I have too many pages to go it seems, and I fear that I will not reach the last page.
One pen, writing and then spelling. A sad voice screaming into grayness. Life is not accomplishments, I do not think. Life is how you have screamed with the earth. Have I saved or damned.
I really don't know.
Why am I writing?
Tonight is well worn.
Tonight, crazy fingers are deciding.
Where is goodness?
Not a personal salvation, maybe?
I've experienced evil and holiness.
So what is right. Do I accept the spaces, slab a foam pimento into my ear.
Desperation and addiction causes this. and lacking want.
I've always been scared of describing what is happening to me, ridicule fear perhaps. The thought of being exciled. Never having someone to talk to or hold.
Fuck it, I don't care.
what's it to you?