Rough edged city skits,
Big bad boy tell me what it's worth.
Long cold nights on the stereo,
Cold outside.
Why don't you,
Tuck your tail and go hide?
Long winding weathered road,
So many sights for each stupid scenario.
These lights are all to behold,
Blissful as can be if you're me in this bitter blue.
Frightful fighting,
Nails and teeth,
Squirming sickly underneath.
Insighting and oh so inviting,
Heartless hails under a holy wreath,
Learning the language of bitter burned belief.
These fools so fickle,
To the devils wearing fabricated feathered gowns.
These fools are an advantage,
To angle into your holy angel as you slither through these towns.
If they think you're a monster,
They ought to see what stands right behind me,
And run.
For I was a boy with big ambitions,
But all I got were intermissions.
Oh all the little boys just like me to be dreadfully cutthroatly cut towards a certain kind of consistency,
Delightfully and unsightfully prone to uncouth indecency!
But that all changed when my life went ablaze.
Burning in some unseemly streamlined haze.
Left as a lost lover boy sinking in the language of stardom,
Where do you think all this had to have come from?
Where do you think this will all go,
When we all know you come from,
My dear delegate for a degenerating doting kingdom?
And oh do you display it on your flushed face pinned onto a dead head to show,
Places you can no longer go like paintings of gardens made from roses red hot with rot and those who forgot it and left it to decay,
Rusting regularly more and more as you offer them day after dreary day!
Your blood drips down onto petals that seemed so silly and sincere,
But sarcasm doesn't read,
When you find they no longer seem to be in much need.
You wonder why things never seem to go well for you.
Collision catastrophe amalgamations covered in the creased confessions of creations,
Stumbling staggered out from under a homely hell faithful and true.
Is it ever any guess that this is where you place when you plead for it to just be a test?
This is your stuttered simple sentence,
You ought to know the rest.
Oh, beloved and bright lover boy,
Lost and loving in the language!
Is that any way to cry,
When you think about your featureless thoughts,
With death already raked through your baby-broken unopened eye?
Curled up on your barren bed,
Singing slurs racked up against your sleazy little sleepyhead,
Turned up sour and seething half-mortified and wholey an unholy sort of dead!
But what would they even know,
When you're half-petrified and wanna run right back inside your simple little comfort zone the size of a shed,
Meanwhile everyone else has a house the size of a whole world to go!
You sit beside such a silly little man,
Holding your heart I can hardly help to stand,
Your every word and command,
Fallen short of simply saying you wish it would do for us to die,
And I simply laugh and heave a lover's light sigh,
Such a surprise I do anything at all with such lackluster blockbuster substance to this plan.
Pressed up against the wall,
I withered and watched it all,
Wondering where the time would go,
As we all bled out in the snow!
-end-
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YOU ARE READING
-Good Morning, Stranger-
PoetryThey sound like such simple words, But they cut into me so. Such simple places, But they all seem to move so slow. Maybe if I were a lover, I could make it freeze up in summer, So I won't have to forget, The way you and I would hold each other as we...
