Just VisitingA Poem by K.C. ZbrykHe wandered though the house Enjoying all the sights The things on the walls They were all unique, foreign Nearly unnatural Drawings and paintings Smiling hysterical faces leering Acid pictures with waves resonating From the center And if one looked closely The center was a drop of water There seemed to be no true center of focus to the pictures None of them made sense The person who made these must have been insane But that was all right He didn’t live here He didn’t know how he got into this Strange place, with these people So he decided it was better to be Fascinated by these pictures That seemed to flow in and out of focus Moving from one topic to another This left him Enthralled By the abnormal clutter used as decorations The sharpie drawings lining the window pass through From the kitchen to the living room The multicolored bottles filling the windows Pillar candles wedged into the mouths of some Long thin fingers of wax running down the sides Booklets from the gem cd cases folded out and dissected Pinned next to the multiple black lights A pair of skeleton gloves placed on an orange wall tapestry Flipping off the people walking by the windows Mismatched furniture Covered in strange colors Bright orange fabric Nothing complimented anything From the wood grain to the patterns Disorganization was the only common factor And the never ending thought That caution that he may have somehow Found himself in the residence of a madman Was a constant whisper in his ear While those people kept looking at him They kept speaking in hushed voices Eyes darting back and forth He felt as if he may be the topic He thought he heard the phrase “…He seems different.” This boy and this girl Over in the corner They seemed to be Concerned But this didn’t matter to him He didn’t know them And they couldn’t know him because That can’t have ever met He would have remembered these faces And he was perpetually anxious to meet, Yet dreading it at the same time, The owner of the residence Upon further investigation He noticed a pipe on the table Along with the drugs beside it The bag of marijuana And the empty bag next to it What was he doing in this place? Why would he ever want to be here? How did he get here? Finally, after a long time, The woman at the far side of the room stood And approached him She rested her hand on his arm And asked, “Logan wants to leave, He wants something from his house, Do you want to come with us?” So he asked “Who are you?” Noticing the lines of concern Growing on her forehead Furrowing deeper And she replied “I’m your girlfriend.” After contemplating this He followed with, “Where are we?” And in a hushed tone she said, “We’re in your house we’ve been here for hours… Don’t you remember?” He gently nods his head Leaving her staring Possibly wondering what may happen next As he walks down the hallway kitchen Into the bathroom at the end He turns to the left and looks into the mirror Just above the sink Where he found a hidden compartment In the bottom of the medicine cabinet Full of crack pipes But he didn’t need to look in there He wanted the mirror Looking at the reflection He finally met the madman that owned the residence The person who inked all the strange pictures Painted the distorted faces Lived in a clashing disheveled testament To instability Looking at the reflection he smiled Remembering the mushrooms And said “It’s nice to meet you sir.” 06-16-2012 0116 AM © 2012 K.C. Zbryk |
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Added on June 16, 2012 Last Updated on June 16, 2012 AuthorK.C. Zbrykthat one with the lights, and buildings too!, COAboutHi I'm Kiefer. Not the actor, or any other strange kiefer titled product, I'm just an amateur writer working on some stories and spitting out the occasional poem. Everything that is posted here is.. more..Writing
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