deepundergroundpoetry.com
Post Mortem
I am a walking, talking universe of dead poets
who tattoo their stanzas into my flesh
with ghostly, typewriter fingers.
I live and breathe their worldly disasters
like a nicotine addiction I've never had.
Drowning in their scribbles
I kiss their shoreline romances,
envy their Annabel Lee's,
& carry their hearts in my heart.
I am 7am coffee on Sunday mornings:
a half drunk, hungover limerick
waiting to happen.
I am jealousy:
nothing more than weak words,
& a tongue-tied cliche-
but death becomes me.
who tattoo their stanzas into my flesh
with ghostly, typewriter fingers.
I live and breathe their worldly disasters
like a nicotine addiction I've never had.
Drowning in their scribbles
I kiss their shoreline romances,
envy their Annabel Lee's,
& carry their hearts in my heart.
I am 7am coffee on Sunday mornings:
a half drunk, hungover limerick
waiting to happen.
I am jealousy:
nothing more than weak words,
& a tongue-tied cliche-
but death becomes me.
Published 18th Nov 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3
reading list entries 0
comments 5
reads 854
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
18th Nov 2012 3:59pm
28th Nov 2012 8:05pm
28th Nov 2012 11:31pm
"I am 7am coffee on Sunday mornings:
a half drunk, hungover limerick
waiting to happen."
Just shaking my head, and smiling.
Good stuff, and I am looking forward to watching you get even better. :)
a half drunk, hungover limerick
waiting to happen."
Just shaking my head, and smiling.
Good stuff, and I am looking forward to watching you get even better. :)
29th Nov 2012 8:38pm
30th Nov 2012 1:03pm
