deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Strand
A sickly sweet taste invades
New found awareness
But it only adds to the chill
Of frigid limbs
Gazing with mild intrest
A tag still on a pale wrist
A simple number reads 23
Its been there from infancy
Raising up from a grainy place
Are small femine feet
Dancing to a safer place
Long black silk flows to a waist still wet
The day of celabration is here
Off to a station to drop off some fear
Letting the chill flow out
The car window
A minituare metallic scream
A automatic door opens
To a station of happiness redemption
Through the scaner then static
A cold hand clamps down
Telling how the day has come
Taken into a suspisious van
Shoved by a frighted man
A simple marked cylinder
Filled till green with sick remidies
Pushed through through pale paper skin
Seeping the poison in
Pins and needles a stabing sensation
Lost is the thought of redemption
Replaced by metal claws
Chenching limbs tightly in its jaws
Thin white cloth draped over curves and breasts
Showing all the memories of lifes tests
Nothing has colour in this haundted place
Not even the other bodies
Seconds hours and miniutes eturnities
Lost in thought and mental diesase
A hole above the heart
Feeling like everything is falling apart
A light flickers then burns
Enlightening nothing but emptyness
"They all have it...the gene"
A whisper word fallows starting with a D
Two men slide over
Examining the body like the table
Speaking of how it needs to be removed
The experiment gone bad.
The conversation takes hope
Which she never had
Another cylinder this one blue
Offering her forcefully reflecting her mood
Shivering with alertness laying in bed
Too many thoughts storming in head
Another hole in hip
A somber feeling smeared over it
A thin crack of paper cracking
Underneath the beds matting
Eyes scan wondering what it all ment
~...has been injected with another depression gene...~
Resisting the soon to be suffering
A game of conect the dots
Played on scars with sharp metal rods
A star without the last strokes bleed
In goes the contance of a glass vile
Into the strokes of emotionless flesh
Too much emptiness
In goes the suicide strand
Last miniutes spent sobbing
Wonderinng why was placed with this extinct gene
That makes living a bad dream
Swallowing up optimism seeds
The spiders laced her hole
In her heart and in her soul
With webs of truth
And covered in dew drops of hope
New found awareness
But it only adds to the chill
Of frigid limbs
Gazing with mild intrest
A tag still on a pale wrist
A simple number reads 23
Its been there from infancy
Raising up from a grainy place
Are small femine feet
Dancing to a safer place
Long black silk flows to a waist still wet
The day of celabration is here
Off to a station to drop off some fear
Letting the chill flow out
The car window
A minituare metallic scream
A automatic door opens
To a station of happiness redemption
Through the scaner then static
A cold hand clamps down
Telling how the day has come
Taken into a suspisious van
Shoved by a frighted man
A simple marked cylinder
Filled till green with sick remidies
Pushed through through pale paper skin
Seeping the poison in
Pins and needles a stabing sensation
Lost is the thought of redemption
Replaced by metal claws
Chenching limbs tightly in its jaws
Thin white cloth draped over curves and breasts
Showing all the memories of lifes tests
Nothing has colour in this haundted place
Not even the other bodies
Seconds hours and miniutes eturnities
Lost in thought and mental diesase
A hole above the heart
Feeling like everything is falling apart
A light flickers then burns
Enlightening nothing but emptyness
"They all have it...the gene"
A whisper word fallows starting with a D
Two men slide over
Examining the body like the table
Speaking of how it needs to be removed
The experiment gone bad.
The conversation takes hope
Which she never had
Another cylinder this one blue
Offering her forcefully reflecting her mood
Shivering with alertness laying in bed
Too many thoughts storming in head
Another hole in hip
A somber feeling smeared over it
A thin crack of paper cracking
Underneath the beds matting
Eyes scan wondering what it all ment
~...has been injected with another depression gene...~
Resisting the soon to be suffering
A game of conect the dots
Played on scars with sharp metal rods
A star without the last strokes bleed
In goes the contance of a glass vile
Into the strokes of emotionless flesh
Too much emptiness
In goes the suicide strand
Last miniutes spent sobbing
Wonderinng why was placed with this extinct gene
That makes living a bad dream
Swallowing up optimism seeds
The spiders laced her hole
In her heart and in her soul
With webs of truth
And covered in dew drops of hope
Published 22nd Mar 2012
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Anonymous
22nd Mar 2012 2:41am
In my opinion, you need to focus more on the topics you write about. This seems way too long, and just all over the place. I had a hard time following what was going on. It just felt uninspired and forced. I think you'd be better at writing stories than poetry (Still just my opinion of course!) ;)
23rd Mar 2012 7:30pm
Thank you for your help. This poem was spur of the moment and was spotty but i guess the holes were too big. I actually did think about putting this into a story but for me it wouldnt be enough to go on.
