Categories > Original > Poetry

and the wall said...::[eromyna erusserp siht ekat t'nac i]

by nerds_assemble 6 reviews

Put the roses down if you thought it was ever here.

Category: Poetry - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama - Published: 2013-09-03 - 390 words

I guess I'm called without a name though this story's cold and old
letters wrote me, nothing's wrong with the failing and ailing
I suppose I'm called a writer or a faulty poster kid of the stage
“the wind was nearsighted and lapsed down, accidentally collapsing to the ground”

only when flinching becomes casual
do you question the signs of life
it's a mistake, you mutter
it's a mishap
don't let me spell the rest out
you're broke, you're lonely, you're chronic
there are more people living in your head than when you were born.

eromyna erusserp fo tros taht ekat t'nac tsuj i esuaceb

jacky told me a story
can't remember it, but the last line was something like this?
taste the black tides of tomorrow, you'll find yourselves far from home

I don't know what he meant

I just like that phrase to be frank.
I like the ounce of it,
the density
the goddamn inscrutable intensity

it's intelligently put
my friend once said
your words are prettily placed
like a playground full of whistles and bells
but they, themselves, strung around your neck
tied up, lined up in pearls, laced to reflect colors
that have never spoken out loud, never tinted your sight
made you appear funny, see funny,
all those colors
they mean nothing.

I thought, maybe if I whisper the meaning or just pin point the spot
the spot where it all tied together
my friend would turn to me and give me that mutual respect we felt as kids

I don't know what second the camera sounded out
the second soundtrack pulsing,
or what made me drop the flashlight
to ask politely through forced teeth

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . …..

and when nobody answered
I just swore to the stones, arranged in a perfectly simple heart
crossing a grave and leaving each one with a different memory
so that the grass would grow around it and the field would turn--
I just hoped that it would be okay.

I guess I'm called a robber, 'cause I steal stereotypical phrases
and keep them to confuse my anonymous friends
set only for friday, because it's just not tuesday
ruby red parachutes out on the telephone line, fall back in time, fall back in time...

""i'm not asking much of you."":
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