Articulate atrocities are like a dirk to my social acceptance and tolerance,
and just as anything that can ferment will make us drunk,
his mental instability pulls forth sheets of glistening suffering.
While watching you play with her hands and laugh,
I also think of him at home, insecure to a relationship parallel to this one.
If the rain lashes and vocalizes that it shall shatter my window,
then why won't it do so and rip out the muffled one hour this night?
When you don't release my arms and torso ...
That is the climatic crest of the daily bitter tide,
and when the chill is drug back a sad reef is exposed.
Really, be my circumstances nervously ironic or pulsatingly close to home,
they are but only an extent of the apprehensions I take from experiences.
So while he's crying and pitching his knuckles at concrete,
scrapping rounded bounds and churning out his frustrations,
my thoughts leave me with a realization that my anger tonight
will only slip through my lips when I sleep in the queerest of bedrooms.
Maybe if the astrological yarns puberty-spawned literature spews it a bit true,
one will be resting with a thick but scattered heard,
the one with the problems quick to the beat of content love.
- Title: You stifled this talent.
- Artist: Pink Rain Today
- Description: I don't expect anyone to understand this. My poetry follows no rhyme scheme, no beat, and is basically prose. It's unstable and intricate. I hope you can enjoy the words and formulate your own tale all the same.
- Date: 10/02/2008
- Tags: stifled talent