deepundergroundpoetry.com
The morning after...
I am the lonliest man alive
muttering under my own stale breath
'don't patronise me.'
My escape route is the disjointed
figure of myself
with one eye closed,
stumbling over impossible sentences.
She looks at me like shit
remembering my head over the toilet
after my not so crafty footwork
during the struggle home.
I can't finish this excuse for a poem,
the backlight drills through me
leaving a tight throat
in need of water and sleep.
muttering under my own stale breath
'don't patronise me.'
My escape route is the disjointed
figure of myself
with one eye closed,
stumbling over impossible sentences.
She looks at me like shit
remembering my head over the toilet
after my not so crafty footwork
during the struggle home.
I can't finish this excuse for a poem,
the backlight drills through me
leaving a tight throat
in need of water and sleep.
Published 17th Jul 2011
| Edited 18th Jul 2011
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18th Jul 2011 1:00am
18th Jul 2011 2:16am
The first three stanzas are written well, in my humble opinion, but need a good ending to give them reason for being written outside of a diary. If you rework the final stanza (in particular the first two lines of it), come up with some solid thought to end on, I think it would turn this piece from diary-level to outright poetic.
