deepundergroundpoetry.com
Musings (angst-ridden lovers) - I
.
.
.
He winked at me.
I gave my
Raised middle finger
A kiss.
He smiled.
The guy across the street,
A sort of friend of mine.
His current lady of the piece almost trips as he dragged her inside
His house, his studio, his sanctuary,
And I,
Sip my coffee
Burning my tongue,
For the millionth time.
Goddammit.
Tortured young artists,
They call him & me
Fuck ups,
He - the enfant terrible ; sex god
I - the hypomanic depressive dream girl ; virgin
Seeking inspiration at the bottom of coffee cups
And he
More in the body of a woman
And I
In the dreams of a man.
He dragged me
To see his art
When we met:
Women.
Bodies.
Bodies
on
Bodies.
Picture of him
Hipster and harsh lines.
His body.
Sensuality seeping, sudden
Arresting
Twisted
"Think you're Egon Schiele?"
"Well, maybe you'd find the answer inside your oven, S."
I gave my
Raised middle finger
A kiss.
The fucker winked at me.
But I was dizzy -
Chest already closing in.
Those
Women undressed in canvas -
I witnessed
Them going in
and Out
Of his place - Him
Going in
and Out
Of them
An unwelcome image to my
Mad girl mind.
I wish I made him up -
I wish I made him up.
He took my
Battered notebook
And read my ink
His stained candlelike fingers
Tracing indents, and slashes
And periods,
commas, and dashes
The way
I want to trace the body
Of the man in the photographs,
In the canvas,
In front of me.
He laughs.
At my words, he laughs.
He said I was
Repressed.
He was full of himself.
If he only knew.
I want to be full of him.
"Fuck you."
"Do you want to?"
Definitely.
"Maybe you should model for me."
Maybe I shouldn't.
I had to sit down then,
When I heard the bang of the door closing
And I
Almost hear her squeals
Giggles and moans
And I
See his face in
Ekstase
His body of art
- Mine -
His,
I am.
But that was last night.
I write.
The verses he find funny,
The verses I weep.
The words written before :
"I am not in love with anyone in the world."
He walked out,
Lips crooked
The woman is giddy, feeling important -
But just another muse,
Another lady and
He fucking winked at me.
I drew the curtains.
When I reached...
On my
Arm
I see the colors of last night
My legs
Still covered with the knee socks he told me to wear
My body
In his button-down shirt too large
My heart
Somewhere.
His signature...[font=Georgia]on my skin.
Photo: Movie still from 'Sylvia' (2003)
.
.
He winked at me.
I gave my
Raised middle finger
A kiss.
He smiled.
The guy across the street,
A sort of friend of mine.
His current lady of the piece almost trips as he dragged her inside
His house, his studio, his sanctuary,
And I,
Sip my coffee
Burning my tongue,
For the millionth time.
Goddammit.
Tortured young artists,
They call him & me
Fuck ups,
He - the enfant terrible ; sex god
I - the hypomanic depressive dream girl ; virgin
Seeking inspiration at the bottom of coffee cups
And he
More in the body of a woman
And I
In the dreams of a man.
He dragged me
To see his art
When we met:
Women.
Bodies.
Bodies
on
Bodies.
Picture of him
Hipster and harsh lines.
His body.
Sensuality seeping, sudden
Arresting
Twisted
"Think you're Egon Schiele?"
"Well, maybe you'd find the answer inside your oven, S."
I gave my
Raised middle finger
A kiss.
The fucker winked at me.
But I was dizzy -
Chest already closing in.
Those
Women undressed in canvas -
I witnessed
Them going in
and Out
Of his place - Him
Going in
and Out
Of them
An unwelcome image to my
Mad girl mind.
I wish I made him up -
I wish I made him up.
He took my
Battered notebook
And read my ink
His stained candlelike fingers
Tracing indents, and slashes
And periods,
commas, and dashes
The way
I want to trace the body
Of the man in the photographs,
In the canvas,
In front of me.
He laughs.
At my words, he laughs.
He said I was
Repressed.
He was full of himself.
If he only knew.
I want to be full of him.
"Fuck you."
"Do you want to?"
Definitely.
"Maybe you should model for me."
Maybe I shouldn't.
I had to sit down then,
When I heard the bang of the door closing
And I
Almost hear her squeals
Giggles and moans
And I
See his face in
Ekstase
His body of art
- Mine -
His,
I am.
But that was last night.
I write.
The verses he find funny,
The verses I weep.
The words written before :
"I am not in love with anyone in the world."
He walked out,
Lips crooked
The woman is giddy, feeling important -
But just another muse,
Another lady and
He fucking winked at me.
I drew the curtains.
When I reached...
On my
Arm
I see the colors of last night
My legs
Still covered with the knee socks he told me to wear
My body
In his button-down shirt too large
My heart
Somewhere.
His signature...[font=Georgia]on my skin.
Photo: Movie still from 'Sylvia' (2003)
Published 5th Aug 2016
| Edited 6th Aug 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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5th Aug 2016 5:31pm
5th Aug 2016 9:27pm
reality and un is messy, enjoy the tensions here betweem the people, angst and ease, lust and the mind, the word and the canvas, the future of regret for brush strokes in the night
6th Aug 2016 3:45pm
6th Aug 2016 8:47am
very serious, your poem, captivating.
I read it down & I come to
'I am not in love with anyone in the world.'
you are, tho...
I read it down & I come to
'I am not in love with anyone in the world.'
you are, tho...
6th Aug 2016 4:47pm
It actually felt strange to write this poem; I was literally shaking(yes, literally) as I typed. Somehow I feel this story isn't over.
On a whim to learn about him, Egon Schiele affected me in a way I didn't anticipate...it's quite a long story, haha. I think I'd only sound silly trying to tell it. The story was playing in my mind then. But it led me to the movie trailer of "EGON SCHIELE - TOD UND MÄDCHEN (Death and the Maiden), the English subtitled one posted just a few days ago, and it just fit with what's in my head. To put it simply, it hit me hard. (Once I want to hit Schiele hard, ha.)
“Declare today on January 8, 1913, that I am not in love with anyone in the world. Wally” - This was found in one of Schiele's personal sketchbook, written by his model and lover, Wally Neuzil.
Am I? I don't think so. :)
(It's not obvious that I'm passionate about this, eh?)
On a whim to learn about him, Egon Schiele affected me in a way I didn't anticipate...it's quite a long story, haha. I think I'd only sound silly trying to tell it. The story was playing in my mind then. But it led me to the movie trailer of "EGON SCHIELE - TOD UND MÄDCHEN (Death and the Maiden), the English subtitled one posted just a few days ago, and it just fit with what's in my head. To put it simply, it hit me hard. (Once I want to hit Schiele hard, ha.)
“Declare today on January 8, 1913, that I am not in love with anyone in the world. Wally” - This was found in one of Schiele's personal sketchbook, written by his model and lover, Wally Neuzil.
Am I? I don't think so. :)
(It's not obvious that I'm passionate about this, eh?)
6th Aug 2016 10:58am
6th Aug 2016 3:47pm
Thank you... I think it's not yet finished though; they're still talking, it seems.
7th Aug 2016 7:46am
8th Aug 2016 12:06pm
Ha, now you know what happens when I get the shivers! Thanks for commenting...
16th Aug 2016 11:26pm
For an "inexperienced" woman you sure spit good sensual game my beauty... This was excellence!
17th Aug 2016 9:39am
Thank you! :)
I just read too much, see little, but experience none.
Sad sometimes, haha.
I just read too much, see little, but experience none.
Sad sometimes, haha.
