Categories > Original > Poetry

Tribute sounds off-putting to me.

by nerds_assemble 3 reviews

See, this is exactly why I never. I mean. You know. Yeah, you guys get it. It's heartbreaking out here. I'm just trying to give the kids a good show, man...

Category: Poetry - Rating: G - Genres: Drama,Horror,Humor - Published: 2013-05-16 - Updated: 2013-05-16 - 567 words

2Ambiance
\\\\\\\\\\\\--------------just for some conformation, man----------------//////////////

I was hoping that maybe he'd take cover
and I wouldn't have to try so hard to
buy a diamond soul or snap a payment down to a rubber tree
for some screwy hope built off of a cautiously deceitful junkyard
because it's right there, all right in the bartender's gut
it's where the panic beats you to your breath in the alley

felix waited for the bus, but passed out down in a vacant alley
see, fostered children don't cry for some cover
they'll just beat their minds, shy away from the hurt in their gut
felix...man, he played the game beautifully when he had to
but he was psycho tonight, kissed a dog on its' teeth in the junkyard
lost his universe under the remains of an oak tree

there's a piece of me that screams 'ditch him, right under that tree'
after all, he lost the best of my networth, downed it all in some alley
but after the midnight stops speeding by, after he walks away from the junkyard
the alphabet that counts memories over his heart won't be so far under a cover
I'll listen, sure, but I can't help myself from betting on the black clouds, too
and maybe I won't handle it, maybe i'll pray him to stop spilling his gut

because I don't want to hear it. because I don't care where he got all...that to fill up his gut
it doesn't mean we're brothers. who cares if we were born from the same, by that tree?
If felix ever felt courageous enough to take up that knife, i'd applaud the two
'do it, man, do it!' my tyrant would screech as another heart closer to mine than ever choked away in an alley
it's what he doesn't say, though. that's when you know you've split him open, that he's blown his cover
because it only takes a look in those frosted eyes to tell me everything that happened before the junkyard


he told me he could pass off as a class act fool sometimes, when he played pretend in the junkyard
how he drove the role home on the street, because it's only acting; not begging. forget the alcohol in his gut
how he was doing fine, just fine until the cops busted his left eye, dispatch placed a call for cover
he was just sleeping, didn't see the harm. yelled horrifically when they tore down the tree
cop told him what he had to his name, cuffed him offensively but felix only felt the loss of roots as they passed his alley
he assured me: “you would've done the same, y'know. Cuss and scream until someone heard you. You have a heart, too.”


when he speaks, you forget he was born around police flashing his rotting tree, that he left a broken home at two
because he grins, no no, smiles, at you. under the weight of the alley, the dirt on his face only makes his smile more beautiful. it's not a cover
he breathes out: “my gut tells me to hate you, probably cause I'm starved...been days, man, shaking in the junkyard.”


-------------------don't really want to end up at the station.




I'm a bit sad and sorry for never knowing someone who's dead. What a cool heartbeat they seemed like. So, here's to you, Jude.
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