deepundergroundpoetry.com
Impressions
Every morning aches with fog,
Every night wheezes with smoke,
I can only offer cold sunshine.
I get the impression that isn’t what you were expecting.
When you are alone all the time,
You speak to yourself,
So you know you haven’t forgotten how to speak.
I write stories every night before I sleep.
In the hopes that I will dream of them,
And escape the nightmares.
If I start counting the days on my wall,
How long will it take
For the tally marks to cover wall to wall?
When I die,
What will I leave behind?
And to who?
First impressions matter,
I want mine to last;
Or I want to have one at least.
One year.
I hope to have many after this one,
And yet some small part of me hopes I don’t.
I think Im making this as a last ditch effort.
A scramble to be someone,
To leave something behind;
A message or thesis.
I’ll leave behind my poetry,
I’ll leave behind my soul.
Find me in;
Dirty footprints,
Bloody tissues,
Bruised eyes,
Crumpled papers,
Loose threads,
Flickering lights,
Broken pencils,
Fading radios,
Scratched CDs,
Cracked glasses,
Lukewarm water bottles,
Empty backpacks,
Wired headphones,
Peeling walls,
Rocking tree branches,
Moonless nights,
Dusty shelves,
Creaking doors,
Yellowed paper,
Old band aids,
Dreamless sleep,
Nightmares you can’t remember,
Rusted metal,
And the impression of my cheek on the car window.
Every night wheezes with smoke,
I can only offer cold sunshine.
I get the impression that isn’t what you were expecting.
When you are alone all the time,
You speak to yourself,
So you know you haven’t forgotten how to speak.
I write stories every night before I sleep.
In the hopes that I will dream of them,
And escape the nightmares.
If I start counting the days on my wall,
How long will it take
For the tally marks to cover wall to wall?
When I die,
What will I leave behind?
And to who?
First impressions matter,
I want mine to last;
Or I want to have one at least.
One year.
I hope to have many after this one,
And yet some small part of me hopes I don’t.
I think Im making this as a last ditch effort.
A scramble to be someone,
To leave something behind;
A message or thesis.
I’ll leave behind my poetry,
I’ll leave behind my soul.
Find me in;
Dirty footprints,
Bloody tissues,
Bruised eyes,
Crumpled papers,
Loose threads,
Flickering lights,
Broken pencils,
Fading radios,
Scratched CDs,
Cracked glasses,
Lukewarm water bottles,
Empty backpacks,
Wired headphones,
Peeling walls,
Rocking tree branches,
Moonless nights,
Dusty shelves,
Creaking doors,
Yellowed paper,
Old band aids,
Dreamless sleep,
Nightmares you can’t remember,
Rusted metal,
And the impression of my cheek on the car window.
Published 6th Jun 2024
Author's Note
An excerpt from a script I wrote for a short film titled “Impressions”.
(Written to be read with “Two-Headed Boy” by Neutral Milk Hotel played behind it.)
(Written to be read with “Two-Headed Boy” by Neutral Milk Hotel played behind it.)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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