Prose for the English Grad
Thorny and deep you've worked yourself,
Tawny and sweet.
You're back and you're churning up burial peat
Growing inside every rose, stem of wheat.
It's the carnival's end but we're too young to leave
So find innocent ways to play up, touch and tease
We're tight in the dusk and our hype hits the trees
And I'm finding it harder just to not believe
Reassuring myself I am not being naive.
You and I are magnets in this great machine
But your changes of heart are a violent disease
And the next week you're babbling about your new squeeze
And I'm almost amused by the whole irony.
I've tried disengaging but you hold me like sleep
I didn't expect how close you would keep
[now you've decided to talk so freely]
...Or how hopeless you'd be at deciphering me.
I know I've been practicing acting discreet
But I know you, no fool, surely taste my defeat?
Surely you gauge my enthusiasm's weak?
Hear the strain of applying a tone that's upbeat
In every verb, noun, adjective I speak?
Her name is your siren.
A siren so it is to me.
When you enter my head it wails repeatedly.
It's not really a lie that I'm glad you're happy
But I'm lost of purpose, for this is not down to me.
Now I'm pacing the streets with my tongue between teeth
Yeah I'm caged in the ribs of my bitten-back speech.
On an entirely different note, my interview in London must have gone better than I'd given credit.. I AM GOING TO WORK IN LES ALPES!
So the aforementioned situation isn't a massive downer because if something had come of it, it would have been harder to leave.
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