Romantics

eh... its kind of random

I escape to my room,

As words flow right through,

Begging for a tune,

Like they need it to survive.

But instead I loom,

And watch them as they float,

through the air,

land,

I watch them die with care.

 

Not this time.

I will grab life be the horns,

And make it mine.

Dial tone,

please,

Operator sinking shots,

No job for the diseased.

Matches burn,

Fires play,

Dancing with their,

Well adjusted flames.

I spin,

Spin,

Frolic on everlasting hope.

When will this ride end?

Never too soon.

 

Oh no,

Man,

Look at the time.

I swear its nothing,

Just leave it behind.

I struggle to,

Make sense to myself,

While holding down the bile.

Churning and burning with cursing,

Longing to escape through my mouth.

 

These letters don’t make sense,

Their indescribable nothingness.

I must recommend that you lie,

In a pile built five stories high,

Of your own feces.

And sit through the plague of flies:

Now won’t you be mine?

Author's Note

Just note that it is ironic... kind of.

Reviews

[Kyle Romano]

lol, it disturbed me a little bit too. thanks for sitting through it.

[Heavenly Scent]

Um...no thank you! lol

Interesting - very visual. I thought you expressed your thoughts extremely well even though they disturbed me a little. Well written, thank you :)