Hemingway, Sexton, Plath, Woolf. You can't kill yourself before you're even published.
Well i got home this afternoon. fuck it's colder than i thought it would be. it's gonna be good to be away from school for a while. finals drained a lot out of me. i may have gotten to bed before 4am once this week. much will be made of this well earned break. it is December so we know what that means... all the best films are being released. i need to make a list: Kong, Narnia, Brokeback, Jarhead (yeah i know its been out since novermber), Syriana and Munich. and then there are of course the other more entertaining movies like The Family Stone (Rachel McAdams.... mmmm *drool*)and The Producers. i am looking forward to a stress free vacation. plus plenty of presents and food. lol. well thats all you'll get from me at this hour of the night. here's a poem to send you on your life. later.
Farewell Tour
Known as the last living rock star
A man parks himself in his garage
And strums his last living will
Playing a death song lullaby
That flows like a northeastern stream
An alternate to the usual
Screaming on stage and bass
That makes the heart skip and brake
Just a wooden guitar and an acoustic jam
The passing cars’ high beams from outside
Provide the perfect laser light show
For a once in a lifetime show,
The one night only serenade
Where he celebrates those times on tour
When he opened his heart to the road
Wrote on the walls the words in his mind
From poetry came lyrics and from them
Came a sound so depressing and divine
God himself chose suicide this time
And from all corners of the neighborhood
Came the children in the usual droves
But what an unusual sight this is
The children had not come in centuries
They all put away the indie albums
And came to listen for a minute
While he prattled on in monotone
Split by interjections of crooning
On the shitty state of the times
He wrapped himself in his notes
Made love to them with his voice
Making the children cry at such a sight
Because they all knew what it was like
To be forgotten yet still spoken of
Much like the man and his guitar
Known as the last living rock star.
Farewell Tour
Known as the last living rock star
A man parks himself in his garage
And strums his last living will
Playing a death song lullaby
That flows like a northeastern stream
An alternate to the usual
Screaming on stage and bass
That makes the heart skip and brake
Just a wooden guitar and an acoustic jam
The passing cars’ high beams from outside
Provide the perfect laser light show
For a once in a lifetime show,
The one night only serenade
Where he celebrates those times on tour
When he opened his heart to the road
Wrote on the walls the words in his mind
From poetry came lyrics and from them
Came a sound so depressing and divine
God himself chose suicide this time
And from all corners of the neighborhood
Came the children in the usual droves
But what an unusual sight this is
The children had not come in centuries
They all put away the indie albums
And came to listen for a minute
While he prattled on in monotone
Split by interjections of crooning
On the shitty state of the times
He wrapped himself in his notes
Made love to them with his voice
Making the children cry at such a sight
Because they all knew what it was like
To be forgotten yet still spoken of
Much like the man and his guitar
Known as the last living rock star.