Tee Hee, Poetry!

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Pyramid Building: Super-Gay, or Ruggedly Heterosexual?

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Tee Hee, Poetry!

Postby FengharTheNord » Sun Nov 08, 2009 5:13 pm

I really like poetry and writing. I especially like writing poetry. Lets do that. Talk about it. And do it. And stuff.

Shovel that dead dog out of your driveway. Scoop up the teeth and put them in the trash bin. Make a wish and dispose of the ribs. Smile as you wag the tail. It's good to see yourself every once and a while, but not like this. So stop it. End it. Give it up. Disgusting. Pervert. Freak. Creep. Loser. Shovel that dead dog out of your driveway.

You and I, we are beautiful. Languishing in light, worms drying out in the sun. We are like the hot cement to sensitive feet. We are like the biting frost to a fair cheek. We bite the hand that needs. Our mouths hold no language but that of our own. You and I, we are beautiful. And when it all burns, you and I, when it all burns, there we will be.

Notes from fingers sing subtle songs. Voices play out, echo against time. A stream will trickle down, following itself back to entry. Back to entry. The world returns to womb. Soupy place, we play among the waters. Where'd the tide go? Where'd the waves go? Stillness is the only voice now. Stillness and harp strings lamenting the bad weather. Infantile thoughts will emerge soon enough. But for now, stillness is the only voice now. Now is now and relative to now is another now. We keep our nows close together now, tied up now, only one now, and it's now. Stillness is the only voice now. So hush that mind let it sink down where it belongs. We could be together now. For stillness is the only voice now.

My mouth makes movements in time with the strings. Wild tongue. Wild heart. Beat skipping heart. Fists will clench tight upon the threads of the world as I bring it down, spin it, unravel it, show it for what it is. I tear at the fabric and yet so taught it remains. So cracked my nails become. Like two stones struck together for spark but they are too sharp to hold. I am clawing my way back in back out. Where do I go in all this mess. "CLEAN YOUR ROOM". "FILTH". "WASH THE WALLS". "You are so useless". Bad thoughts bad thoughts bad thoughts bad thoughts. I push them back in. Only place they can go. That's what you do when you are like me. That's what I do, because I'm me. I don't really have a choice. I mean, you wouldn't if you were me. So just let go. Like my hands do. They let go of things. Wild hands. Sometimes they hold too tight. Too hard.

I need a house. A house with one room. And one person. Me. Me in my house. A bed. A light. And a fan to help me sleep. No windows, there is nothing I want to see. No doors, there is nowhere nor no one I want to be (with). No radio, voices annoy me. A house with one room A house and me.

I know it doesn't have any structure 'n stuff but I wrote it on facebook and I don't really feel like messing with it. NOW READ MINE AND/OR POST YOURS!!!