Room 117
These are the second and third parts of my "empty vassels" series of poems. I don't know if there will be any more of these poems, most likely, but anyways, I think.. Yes, the poem i posted on here before these ones is the first. (Couldn't remember if i posted it to here or to one of my other blogging sits.)
The first one was inspired by a dream I'd had, and the next two were written friday night. One on a chalk board originally, which was fun, just beating the poem out of the chalkboard, making the chalkboard bleed out the poem. Anyways, here it is.
"Tabula Rosa"
We are empty vassels
Waiting, like soured milk
to be tossed aside for the next
pay day. Rainy days don't always
stop when the static of the radio
flys away like the gnat in your ear.
Fire in a crowded theatre.
And you can't quite quit the life
you never wanted to live
behind the curtain of y
our mistakes. The daily
give, give, give
but never take the
drugs like a lithium to fill
the emptyness inside.
And the bladder bursts
and the piss drips down your
legs. It tastes like purple
and citalopram.
It tastes like the nightshade
and a long walk in old buildings.
It's the telephone calls
and the dreary halls...
This can't be right.
When you can't think of
anything except
the piss on your legs
and the guilt in your
stomach. You can't breathe
the poison of the smell
of your own breath. I never
meant for it to be
like this. I mean
the bleach odesn't work when you
wash it down with a glass of
whiskey and lime,
And Maxine was wrong. You can't
go backwards in a home movie. There
is no order to this drama; this sanity.
Only I know that the nurses
are only here to
validate themselves.
Wait a moment my ass.
Your grass isn't any more
red than mine. There's been
blood spilt. And there's been
curses thrown
(I should have known)
And there's been days spent saying "No,
that's okay. I've eaten already
today." Don't tell me you don't
play the same games I do.
Who... who are you to judge me?
I am numb. There is never
a choice. Only knowing that
you didn't give it to him.
He took it. But you never stopped
knowing who you were.
You just forgot what you were.
Addressee
We are nothing but empty vassels
plainly wrapped
unconcernedly delivered
to the wrong address.
And it was never
any of my concern.
Well, not really.
Waiting is the longest
part. Seeing eye
to eye is
impossible when one is
looking back,
and one isn't looking at all.
There aren't enough drugs in
all the lands
to make appropriate
reprimands. Children never
wait to be told twice.
And what does that mean for me?
Nothing. Or so I'd like to think.
You like to yourself when you don't
can;t accept and move on.
Accept. Except.
White Godiva with her
blond hair -
And Ariel soaring
through the muddy air.
It was soiled with the
lies I told.
And all the grand ideas
were bought and sold
for a penny more than I
who am I to judge,
yes who am I to give
jurizprudence to those
I can't understand.
And it was empty,
my freudian slips
and chocolate chips
waiting to be added
to the mix
of citalopram and
lithium. I defy,
I testify
you were in the book
and now so am I.
You escaped
uscathed. While I
breathe in the glorious poison
of clyndomyacin.
The first one was inspired by a dream I'd had, and the next two were written friday night. One on a chalk board originally, which was fun, just beating the poem out of the chalkboard, making the chalkboard bleed out the poem. Anyways, here it is.
"Tabula Rosa"
We are empty vassels
Waiting, like soured milk
to be tossed aside for the next
pay day. Rainy days don't always
stop when the static of the radio
flys away like the gnat in your ear.
Fire in a crowded theatre.
And you can't quite quit the life
you never wanted to live
behind the curtain of y
our mistakes. The daily
give, give, give
but never take the
drugs like a lithium to fill
the emptyness inside.
And the bladder bursts
and the piss drips down your
legs. It tastes like purple
and citalopram.
It tastes like the nightshade
and a long walk in old buildings.
It's the telephone calls
and the dreary halls...
This can't be right.
When you can't think of
anything except
the piss on your legs
and the guilt in your
stomach. You can't breathe
the poison of the smell
of your own breath. I never
meant for it to be
like this. I mean
the bleach odesn't work when you
wash it down with a glass of
whiskey and lime,
And Maxine was wrong. You can't
go backwards in a home movie. There
is no order to this drama; this sanity.
Only I know that the nurses
are only here to
validate themselves.
Wait a moment my ass.
Your grass isn't any more
red than mine. There's been
blood spilt. And there's been
curses thrown
(I should have known)
And there's been days spent saying "No,
that's okay. I've eaten already
today." Don't tell me you don't
play the same games I do.
Who... who are you to judge me?
I am numb. There is never
a choice. Only knowing that
you didn't give it to him.
He took it. But you never stopped
knowing who you were.
You just forgot what you were.
Addressee
We are nothing but empty vassels
plainly wrapped
unconcernedly delivered
to the wrong address.
And it was never
any of my concern.
Well, not really.
Waiting is the longest
part. Seeing eye
to eye is
impossible when one is
looking back,
and one isn't looking at all.
There aren't enough drugs in
all the lands
to make appropriate
reprimands. Children never
wait to be told twice.
And what does that mean for me?
Nothing. Or so I'd like to think.
You like to yourself when you don't
can;t accept and move on.
Accept. Except.
White Godiva with her
blond hair -
And Ariel soaring
through the muddy air.
It was soiled with the
lies I told.
And all the grand ideas
were bought and sold
for a penny more than I
who am I to judge,
yes who am I to give
jurizprudence to those
I can't understand.
And it was empty,
my freudian slips
and chocolate chips
waiting to be added
to the mix
of citalopram and
lithium. I defy,
I testify
you were in the book
and now so am I.
You escaped
uscathed. While I
breathe in the glorious poison
of clyndomyacin.