it was a red night-
a burgundy night
the finger-splitting
mind driving
eye clenching
fist breaking
fight.
shattered the black glass
the asphalt coddled
burning sand comforted
water from springs poured infection
into wounds
to close eyes
meant to fill them with blood
escape was disguise
disguised as escape
an invisible enemy is felt
in the asphalt hall
there was no escape
there was a disgruntled sense of purpose
at least
a sense of achievement in dis-achievement
and it was just a sheet of white, the climax of the ascent, when nails and claws are thrust into the base of our necks
betrayal is no word in our language
for we do not know each other
until the end
until the black and red end
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4 comments:
i don't "like" this, if you know what i mean.. but i think it's good, and it makes a lot of sense to me. in a way.
tatarantaa and i speak with burning eloquence once again.
makes sense? it made too much sense to me because i realized after i wrote it that it fit perfectly with Fight Club and I was like, "dang." But I guess I don't mind. My accidental tribute. I'd like to thank the academy...
caustically burning eloquence.
er. i should probably mention that the actual inspiration was one of those dreams that seems to last all night. it was sheer masochism.
when you watch violent movies you have violent dreams. :( which is sad, because most good movies are violent. and it's important to watch violence. ha. i hope? i wish not?
yes, it stands for itself. the poem.
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