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(no subject)
’it’s not really poetry, but it’s pretty,’ he said.
As he raises his voice, she lowers her head.
’it makes my heart heavy, you’re lonely, I think.
Oh, rose, you’re sad, I suppose.’
’look in her bed and she’s bound to be sleeping.
She’s lying there dead. - no, she’s breathing.’
Furious rose, with your opiate eyes,
Your languorous hum, that tone of surprise
I’ve heard energy in adversity.
Your smile: the soul of witchery.
You’re not running away,
You’re not running - are you?
Lyrically longing, she’s tearing the words from the page.
She’s fearfully seething.
’bring me your blessings, a prayer, or a new pen.
- you don’t know what I need.’
’look in my bed and I’m bound to be sleeping,
I’m lying there dead, but I’m breathing.
And I’m barely balancing as it is,
And I don’t want to drown in my dreams
Bring me wild plums and agrimony
I bet you don’t even know what that means.’
Furious rose with your opiate eyes,
Your languorous hum, that tone of surprise.
I’ve heard energy in adversity.
Your smile: the soul of witchery.
You’re not running away,
You’re not running - are you?
Stop beating the dead horse, mother. I've had enough of your accusations and your snide comments. I've had enough of your browbeating and your constant micromanagement of my life.
MY life.
As he raises his voice, she lowers her head.
’it makes my heart heavy, you’re lonely, I think.
Oh, rose, you’re sad, I suppose.’
’look in her bed and she’s bound to be sleeping.
She’s lying there dead. - no, she’s breathing.’
Furious rose, with your opiate eyes,
Your languorous hum, that tone of surprise
I’ve heard energy in adversity.
Your smile: the soul of witchery.
You’re not running away,
You’re not running - are you?
Lyrically longing, she’s tearing the words from the page.
She’s fearfully seething.
’bring me your blessings, a prayer, or a new pen.
- you don’t know what I need.’
’look in my bed and I’m bound to be sleeping,
I’m lying there dead, but I’m breathing.
And I’m barely balancing as it is,
And I don’t want to drown in my dreams
Bring me wild plums and agrimony
I bet you don’t even know what that means.’
Furious rose with your opiate eyes,
Your languorous hum, that tone of surprise.
I’ve heard energy in adversity.
Your smile: the soul of witchery.
You’re not running away,
You’re not running - are you?
Stop beating the dead horse, mother. I've had enough of your accusations and your snide comments. I've had enough of your browbeating and your constant micromanagement of my life.
MY life.