deepundergroundpoetry.com

Wear it on your sleeve

'How's it all hanging?'
as you say, fresh from the diapers
of plastic heartbreak.
I sit heavy on a terrible metaphor;
these words being toys
thrown from a pram-like brain
as daddy looks down on you...
"You're not having that navel piercing,
not unless you find somewhere
else to live."

The words cascade
like used toilets in reverse
as anger drives you towards
a panting heap of teary eyed toss.
If its not a rhyming insight
as to why the view from the top
of a tall building seems like
the shortest route to happiness
it's a child learning vulgarity
for the first time.

The walls are splattered with rapes,
bodily disfunctions, dark sex
as if we are meant to wince
in to a state of applause.
Bodies are mutilated,
young girls are torn,
but not even at a single point..

Not one moment;
one line,
one word
or even the final full stop
do the brown curtains
of a saturated brain
give way
to let the words flow
on to the page
in an easy
and forceful manner
like cigarette smoke
filling a sunlit room.

 


 



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Written by CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
Published
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