deepundergroundpoetry.com
Light
I've lost some passion to the casket
where I've abandoned my flask.
Now I'm tasked with finding new
suns to bask in, for now I can barely
get a match lit, they say this will pass.
The night that never ends, well I guess
it depends. I could learn to adapt
or get a new pen, one that glows in the
dark perhaps, or one from a friend.
Maybe one off a pal so at least I could
send good wishes and late kisses
to those who defend
me while
I'm at my worst, practising curses
in the back of a church.
On a bender playing chicken with hearses,
I'm so sick of seeing nurses,
been feeling worthless
and for now I'm alone.
Stone sober, feeling how
soft I have grown, wondering
how bad it's been shown,
a cover been blown, now I'm trying
to get it right.
Got not much left, but it's the bit that'll fight.
It's the bit with foresight.
If I deserve it, bring plight.
Let my limbs drop off
before I swallow a knife,
just know that I'm trying,
I'm prying the crack, yelling for life.
I'm not looking back,
no more bottling strife,
No more poison swallowed
behind a throttle, no more wallowing
in pipes. This may kill
some creativity, may be likely
it might, but that's better than
a soul being lost to the dark
in a world so bright.
I'll try to get it right,
I'll try to be strong,
I'll try to kill a demon
and be a picture of might.
I'll try to be what you may
write about and not an image of fright.
I don't mean intimidating,
just a sickening blight.
Cure me, myself,
keep this will iron tight.
I won't hear ill-will,
or I may just smite.
Here's to feeling somewhere
nearer fantastic,
as I back from the casket.
Here's to all to get my back quick,
here's to finding the light.
Time to get it right
where I've abandoned my flask.
Now I'm tasked with finding new
suns to bask in, for now I can barely
get a match lit, they say this will pass.
The night that never ends, well I guess
it depends. I could learn to adapt
or get a new pen, one that glows in the
dark perhaps, or one from a friend.
Maybe one off a pal so at least I could
send good wishes and late kisses
to those who defend
me while
I'm at my worst, practising curses
in the back of a church.
On a bender playing chicken with hearses,
I'm so sick of seeing nurses,
been feeling worthless
and for now I'm alone.
Stone sober, feeling how
soft I have grown, wondering
how bad it's been shown,
a cover been blown, now I'm trying
to get it right.
Got not much left, but it's the bit that'll fight.
It's the bit with foresight.
If I deserve it, bring plight.
Let my limbs drop off
before I swallow a knife,
just know that I'm trying,
I'm prying the crack, yelling for life.
I'm not looking back,
no more bottling strife,
No more poison swallowed
behind a throttle, no more wallowing
in pipes. This may kill
some creativity, may be likely
it might, but that's better than
a soul being lost to the dark
in a world so bright.
I'll try to get it right,
I'll try to be strong,
I'll try to kill a demon
and be a picture of might.
I'll try to be what you may
write about and not an image of fright.
I don't mean intimidating,
just a sickening blight.
Cure me, myself,
keep this will iron tight.
I won't hear ill-will,
or I may just smite.
Here's to feeling somewhere
nearer fantastic,
as I back from the casket.
Here's to all to get my back quick,
here's to finding the light.
Time to get it right
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