You must login to vote
I'm submitting this under blogs because I'm not sure if this is me complaining, rambling, or if it could somehow become a poem. I like it, but it might need a lot of work. It's not really something I want picked apart, but at the same time I need some imput on if it's a worthy pursuit or not. Thanks guys, you all rock!
After twenty minutes of concentrating
I can't seem to write worth a shit.
So, I walk away and wait until
12am when I will lay by the side of my
and watch him in the stiffled moonlight
that fights to get inside our dungeon.
His face will contain two thirds apathy
and one eighth meloncholy
with the remainder being some sort of
strange concoction of love and indulgence.
I'd spit off the bed to clense our sin.
What a shame.
Anyways, I will let my hands wander around
his body, hoping
to stir some sort of need in us or me
And then feel the reciprocal
Constructing all along
some sort of jilted explaination for
the story I told the last time I laid here
Trying to define the structure of emotion
passing from mind to heart and back.
Eventually, I will become wound up in words
and he will doze and I will become
the immortal, ghostly stalker
floating around his bed.
Lay a kiss on his head and pass away myself.
In the morning light, the alarm will buzz
he will come back to bed
and wrap his arms around a non-descript body
he happens to find laying there.
He sees her ghostly face in my translucent smile,
and drifts away to wait until the call returns
to trudge back into the land of obligations.
Where I still cannot write a single fucking word.
"God grant me distraction."