You wear your hypocrisy like a cloak,
Wrapping your anger around you as protection.
You say you are weary and the wolf is on your back
And I have no sympathy for tact. You say "just the facts"
You twist the truth with such craft, call in a lectern,
To watch as the river burns, the border collapse
Between what you say and what you choose,
Caught between a storm and a noose.
You recite prized mythologies built by age,
Too bad the world does not work that way,
Bring in that classic attack, pack mentality,
I refuse to play your mirror with impunity
And I have no sympathy for that,
I always placed sentiment over facts.
Dust five layers thick,
A fine snow coating,
Suburbian wasteland.
Trauma sticks in the air.
The paint has ruptured,
Pictures quickly blur,
Nothing remarkable,
No marketable pull,
Tenants flit in and out,
Past a few centuries,
Of muffled histories,
Surrounded by trees
A patchwork of the
Antique and sleek,
It crouches in wait.
An itch without a root,
Time without measure,
Music forever silent.
Days overlapping,
Into unencumbered
Decimals and numbers
If I can speak without
The entanglements
Of syntax and letters,
Would you listen
If I ran until my
Feet bled a path,
Blood against snow
(Always glistens).
Would you follow,
Tracing my steps,
With precision.
Or am I trapped
Beneath buried fears.
When the mist of
Misplaced affection
Clears, will you stay.
To rebuild an affair?
In my head words blur.
Where logic is twisted
And delusion shines
Brighter than the stars,
And comfort is so far
From my timid reach.
In my head facts lie,
And memories die
Over and over again.
How can i pretend
That hope is for free,
Even the blind see,
Order in madness,
Anger in sadness.
In my head I hide,
Trying to revive
Dead dreams.
There is a stain on the wall,
Both suspicious and familiar
It is conspicuous yet small,
The dratted spot, ties my
Tender nerves in knots.
For it will not fall, to
Any soap or bleach,
Or clorox within my
Ever limited reach.
it is like a leech,
Sucking at my thigh.
Demanding attention,
It makes me sigh,
Oh how it lies within,
Every stranger's sight.
I have tried everything
To no delight, my might
Is curbed, and deferred
There is a stain on the wall,
I scrub at it every damn day
Yet it will not wash away.
I detest the permanence
Of such a trifling thing!
It is a simple ring, Of
rusty red, that spreads
And multiplies, to
If you stumble past the surface,
Through my armies with grace,
Falling into this fragile space,
Drifting by the resistance
Can you break the distance,
I use to hide from anyone
Who tries to get close.
I do not know how to ask,
Without being the odd
pause within your daily
exchange of baggage,
I suppose my solitude
is laced with anxiety,
I must not, shall not
Interrupt your chat,
In the selfish hope
Of a future meeting
Where I may walk,
Besides you freely,
And speak to you,
Instead of stuffing
My words away,
Into storage.
I swim in a sea of blank paper,
Crumpled, torn up, given up sheets.
Overwhelmed by my rejects.
I tango with the undertow.
Fighting, clutching pieces
Of ripped up sketches,
I aim to drown out
The illegible words.
My strokes are uneven
I can not drift on by,
Floating on a raft,
Of my half-drawn
Dreams.
Friday Night: Broken Glass by TheIneptPoet, literature
Literature
Friday Night: Broken Glass
In the glass section of the wooden door she can see her deceptive reflection. Her glance is wary, and her green-blue eyes appear as a stormy gray. Her body juts at all angles; the weight she was supposed to gain never made appearance. On her head rests a bandana with an American flag; which leaves the false impression of patriotism.
In the background she can hear her mother begin to barf into the toilet. Her mother's voice calls out, "Give me tissues." She leaves the kitchen for the bathroom, with a box of Kleenex. Georgia doesn't question, just hands her a box. She expected this outcome, and softly says: "You need to get more sleep." Then
You wear your hypocrisy like a cloak,
Wrapping your anger around you as protection.
You say you are weary and the wolf is on your back
And I have no sympathy for tact. You say "just the facts"
You twist the truth with such craft, call in a lectern,
To watch as the river burns, the border collapse
Between what you say and what you choose,
Caught between a storm and a noose.
You recite prized mythologies built by age,
Too bad the world does not work that way,
Bring in that classic attack, pack mentality,
I refuse to play your mirror with impunity
And I have no sympathy for that,
I always placed sentiment over facts.
Dust five layers thick,
A fine snow coating,
Suburbian wasteland.
Trauma sticks in the air.
The paint has ruptured,
Pictures quickly blur,
Nothing remarkable,
No marketable pull,
Tenants flit in and out,
Past a few centuries,
Of muffled histories,
Surrounded by trees
A patchwork of the
Antique and sleek,
It crouches in wait.
An itch without a root,
Time without measure,
Music forever silent.
Days overlapping,
Into unencumbered
Decimals and numbers
If I can speak without
The entanglements
Of syntax and letters,
Would you listen
If I ran until my
Feet bled a path,
Blood against snow
(Always glistens).
Would you follow,
Tracing my steps,
With precision.
Or am I trapped
Beneath buried fears.
When the mist of
Misplaced affection
Clears, will you stay.
To rebuild an affair?
In my head words blur.
Where logic is twisted
And delusion shines
Brighter than the stars,
And comfort is so far
From my timid reach.
In my head facts lie,
And memories die
Over and over again.
How can i pretend
That hope is for free,
Even the blind see,
Order in madness,
Anger in sadness.
In my head I hide,
Trying to revive
Dead dreams.
She sits on a hill watching the world slip past her finger tips,
And she wonders is this insanity or have come to grips,
With the day past the night,
With vision beyond sight,
And the crow sits on her shoulder,
Of heart break, he sings so melodically in her ear.
And he is there as she avoids fear,
And in no one's arms is solace near.
She sits so still,
And wistfully dreams of forests beyond the hill,
And she wants to feel the breeze,
Dancing with the leaves descending from the trees,
To the mossy ground,
And there are no others around.
But loneliness is a bitter pill.
When the dream has died and there is no will,
To fight agai
Forever searching,
For something that cannot be found.
Something that comes and goes as it likes without a sound.
Something that can be seen everywhere by those that see,
But only the blinded plea,
For something to become clear,
In worlds within and outside reality,
And that is why I fear
It will always be missing,
And I am not meant to find it here.
To only be meant for wishing,
It would appear.
In the shape of words,
Slaved over meticulously,
They are my cage, and yet I expect them to set me free
As the birds forever flying overhead,
But I am only to be destroyed and left dead,
By my own creations and bindings.
Greetings! This account belongs to a tired, socially dysfunctional chick. The subject in question likes peppermint tea, accents, and dark humor. She uses it as a place to post her attempts at literature.
Also discarding third person vanity for a note: I tend to be VERY shy, so please don't be offended if I favorite your artwork and run. I'm still trying to get the hang of "commenting".
Current Residence: desolation row deviantWEAR sizing preference: medium Favourite photographer: Carrie Favourite style of art: I like 'em all. Operating System: Windows Xp, Mac Wallpaper of choice: Thunderstorm scene prepacked on the mac Skin of choice: My own
I always have plot bunnies, editing, and projects up my sleeves. Whether they ever get completed is another thing. After a lot of chaos, I am trying to thrive instead of survive. I got through 1 year of college and still have yet to pick a major. I am at a crossroad, wondering which path to choose..