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Sweat-drenched Addiction
Screaming revolt for a wine debauchery, social adultery, a mid-youth cemetery
Quiet races for flags of gold and red and cobalt blue, acknowledgement to the masses.
Her fame, his glory, their greed.
Where innocence is laid upon a ten year olds thighs and spread on a rhino for the modern mammal and his sickness.
Paid. Signed. Sealed. Unrecieved.
Promises broken so quickly by airheads and bureaucrats and the other half of the population, all mentally ill with something.
What beauty lies in fish bowls now when goldfish floats on top, its little eyes bulging, for six year old boy to find on Boxing day?
He got him Christmas eve, named him 'Nemo'.
Nothing has a happy ending really, we learn that young.
In the affections of not depressing those interested enough to read, I will talk of unicorns and fairys and princesses,
who are we kidding?
Naturists are the closest we will get to Adam and Eve,
hippies were the closest we would get to peace
and that died a while ago.
Fifties stepford wives were the perfect women,
and in fifty-five, our anguished JD made three films before falling, angel.
The perfection of our nation is found in seduction, suffocation, infection
until all of us fall at our idols knees, drooling and spitting and swallowing our tongues in self-loathing.
Oh, sweet addiction how we love thee.
We know not what you do.[/font]
Quiet races for flags of gold and red and cobalt blue, acknowledgement to the masses.
Her fame, his glory, their greed.
Where innocence is laid upon a ten year olds thighs and spread on a rhino for the modern mammal and his sickness.
Paid. Signed. Sealed. Unrecieved.
Promises broken so quickly by airheads and bureaucrats and the other half of the population, all mentally ill with something.
What beauty lies in fish bowls now when goldfish floats on top, its little eyes bulging, for six year old boy to find on Boxing day?
He got him Christmas eve, named him 'Nemo'.
Nothing has a happy ending really, we learn that young.
In the affections of not depressing those interested enough to read, I will talk of unicorns and fairys and princesses,
who are we kidding?
Naturists are the closest we will get to Adam and Eve,
hippies were the closest we would get to peace
and that died a while ago.
Fifties stepford wives were the perfect women,
and in fifty-five, our anguished JD made three films before falling, angel.
The perfection of our nation is found in seduction, suffocation, infection
until all of us fall at our idols knees, drooling and spitting and swallowing our tongues in self-loathing.
Oh, sweet addiction how we love thee.
We know not what you do.[/font]
Published 19th Jan 2011
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19th Jan 2011 12:33pm
first line grabbed me, those last two kicked me in the teeth! i fucking *love* that! chills.
and "until all of us fall at our idols knees, drooling and spitting and swallowing
our tongues in self-loathing."
really, darling. very good.
and "until all of us fall at our idols knees, drooling and spitting and swallowing
our tongues in self-loathing."
really, darling. very good.
19th Jan 2011 12:46pm
Thank you, Jestalessa. I've been a little off my 'A' game lately and I thought this brought it back to basics when I wrote it. I'm glad you liked it. :)
18th Jul 2015 1:36am
