It's almost four in the morning, and yes, I'm still up...
What am I doing up you ask?
Why, writing a sad love poem and working on my half-finished painting, of course! There's just so much magic in the wee hours of the morning that helps me to be my most creative. My artistic juices especially start flowing at 2 in the morning. Go figure. Call it one of the strange idiosyncrasies of an eccentric artist.
Anyways, here's the poem:
red ruin
in my reflection
i glare
at my edgy black hair
and at my pathetic nails,
black polish now chipped
and trashed as if heartache itself
had belched out its bitterness
across my fingers,
my black fishnet tights
unraveled
like a spider-web across the floor,
a seductive and not-so-subtle
trap for recurring
disaster
i offer myself willingly,
ready for sacrifice,
the taste of hostility still burning
my tongue,
sour and metallic,
like rumination
in the mirror
i line my mouth in Red Ruin,
wishing that i, too, could ruin
those pesky happy memories
of us
achy, itchy memories
still lingering like unanswered questions
upon my lips,
little time bombs waiting
to *explode*
at any sign of weakness
i try to i sing along with the Postal Service
"i want a love that looks and feels
just like a movie"
but my heart seems to have forgotten
how to sing
and all i care to remember is how your eyes
would light up
when youd serenade me at unsuspecting
moments,
(i.e. empty aisles at grocery stores!)
or how youd make that silly, loopy grin of yours
after one of our laugh-fests,
looking like a little boy
with a wicked secret too forbidden
to share,
and id laugh so hard that even
the stars seemed out of breath,
my words no longer making any sense
only you and i made sense
in those tiny moments
together,
shutting out the entire universe -
the moon dangling
upon our words
like a period at the end
of all our
sentences.
**Comments always welcome**
Now off to paint!! night night *kisses*
What am I doing up you ask?
Why, writing a sad love poem and working on my half-finished painting, of course! There's just so much magic in the wee hours of the morning that helps me to be my most creative. My artistic juices especially start flowing at 2 in the morning. Go figure. Call it one of the strange idiosyncrasies of an eccentric artist.
Anyways, here's the poem:
red ruin
in my reflection
i glare
at my edgy black hair
and at my pathetic nails,
black polish now chipped
and trashed as if heartache itself
had belched out its bitterness
across my fingers,
my black fishnet tights
unraveled
like a spider-web across the floor,
a seductive and not-so-subtle
trap for recurring
disaster
i offer myself willingly,
ready for sacrifice,
the taste of hostility still burning
my tongue,
sour and metallic,
like rumination
in the mirror
i line my mouth in Red Ruin,
wishing that i, too, could ruin
those pesky happy memories
of us
achy, itchy memories
still lingering like unanswered questions
upon my lips,
little time bombs waiting
to *explode*
at any sign of weakness
i try to i sing along with the Postal Service
"i want a love that looks and feels
just like a movie"
but my heart seems to have forgotten
how to sing
and all i care to remember is how your eyes
would light up
when youd serenade me at unsuspecting
moments,
(i.e. empty aisles at grocery stores!)
or how youd make that silly, loopy grin of yours
after one of our laugh-fests,
looking like a little boy
with a wicked secret too forbidden
to share,
and id laugh so hard that even
the stars seemed out of breath,
my words no longer making any sense
only you and i made sense
in those tiny moments
together,
shutting out the entire universe -
the moon dangling
upon our words
like a period at the end
of all our
sentences.
**Comments always welcome**
Now off to paint!! night night *kisses*
synfull:
you deserve some encouragement and acknowledgement for you words. it captures the emptiness one has after a seemingly perfect but perhaps slightly idealized and not fully muture but still all engulfing and hopelessly and dependent and beautiful love relationship is gone. and the way even though you know it would still probably end up in disaster you'd still take that chance just to have the chance to feel something close to that again. (i hope that makes sense...it's my long, rambling way of saying i feel you, nice work. i write a lot of shit on my page and/or "poetry kicks ass". i'd love to hear what you have to say. (anybody who hates Georg Bush, loves Klimt's "The Kiss" and lists Donnie Darko/Eternal Sunshine/Requiem as their favorite movies is alright with me)