deepundergroundpoetry.com
Four Am Ramblings
I entered this, at four am, when sleep was lost and I felt too drowsy,
so shoot me for failure of my typical word-vomit, I'm slashed of observation and skill.
I need to write him down; in all his faults and flaws to forget his forgery.
Who was he anyway?
Did I ever see the real him behind those wicked, blue eyes?And was he there to taunt, torture and torment me when I could not sleep, when I needed love.
It echoes, like a cat howling in the bathroom, hitting and bouncing off damp walls.
He doesn't aid my talent, in fact he drags me down, rinderance, to a typical eighteen year old girl with flawless motives for forming poetry.
Save me from my madness!
Heal me from his obsession,
plaster me with something sacred, and less than, this infatuation.
Can anyone just feel nothing?
Can I shut down this painful truth, like the pasture I dare not venture to getting past this?
Why does it hurt so effortlessly to try, like a graze from running away too fast?
The knife that twists, metaphorically, into a weak ribcage and it's hollow feeling.
Can I wake, from this dreamless whisper?
Can you, please, wake me from this dreamless sleep?
I cannot feel this always, I cannot deal with this for all my days,
I am tired of bruises and breaks and bridges to guide me
away from this darkness in all it's unfortunate beauty.
I'll sleep, screen open, one hand open hoping when I wake it will be filled with his warmth.
Goodnight, Deep Underground,
you cannot offer me anticeptic, or pills, or love to climb with me out of this hole.
I am tired now, and those of you I would wish to talk to are in slumber.
I hope that tomorrow you read my plea, and look upon it without judgement on it's poetic stand but look upon it as a friend, calling out, in need.
Thank you.[/font]
so shoot me for failure of my typical word-vomit, I'm slashed of observation and skill.
I need to write him down; in all his faults and flaws to forget his forgery.
Who was he anyway?
Did I ever see the real him behind those wicked, blue eyes?And was he there to taunt, torture and torment me when I could not sleep, when I needed love.
It echoes, like a cat howling in the bathroom, hitting and bouncing off damp walls.
He doesn't aid my talent, in fact he drags me down, rinderance, to a typical eighteen year old girl with flawless motives for forming poetry.
Save me from my madness!
Heal me from his obsession,
plaster me with something sacred, and less than, this infatuation.
Can anyone just feel nothing?
Can I shut down this painful truth, like the pasture I dare not venture to getting past this?
Why does it hurt so effortlessly to try, like a graze from running away too fast?
The knife that twists, metaphorically, into a weak ribcage and it's hollow feeling.
Can I wake, from this dreamless whisper?
Can you, please, wake me from this dreamless sleep?
I cannot feel this always, I cannot deal with this for all my days,
I am tired of bruises and breaks and bridges to guide me
away from this darkness in all it's unfortunate beauty.
I'll sleep, screen open, one hand open hoping when I wake it will be filled with his warmth.
Goodnight, Deep Underground,
you cannot offer me anticeptic, or pills, or love to climb with me out of this hole.
I am tired now, and those of you I would wish to talk to are in slumber.
I hope that tomorrow you read my plea, and look upon it without judgement on it's poetic stand but look upon it as a friend, calling out, in need.
Thank you.[/font]
Published 15th Jan 2011
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15th Jan 2011 9:56am
Four past midnight.
And sleep is hard.
Please don't despair.
My sweet young bard.
When dreams have past.
And nighttime ends.
Return back home.
To your DU friends.
And sleep is hard.
Please don't despair.
My sweet young bard.
When dreams have past.
And nighttime ends.
Return back home.
To your DU friends.
15th Jan 2011 2:29pm
