I used to fancy myself as some kind of Bard.
Used to write poetry, and haven't for too long. It's weird, really. Amateurish as my verses are, they at least flowed forth easily before. In a brilliant albeit sick sort of analogy, I seem to have poetical constipation now. Can't do it. Would come across too obviously as trying too hard if I did.
This was one of the -Out of nowhere, pick up pen and start stabbing paper with it- pieces.
It's a superficial world. Deny it if you will.
I don't.
It's a world where covers, not content, sell.
Where the Good are always Beautiful, and true
Evil must have horns and pustules.
Where the heavy-browed are stupid and the
Nondescript person cannot be the killer.
Spare me the inner beauty drivel. The advocates either look like
Movie stars, who can afford to be magnanimous, or
Warthogs, and they need all the help they can get.
This is me now. Or at least, what I look like now. A sort of warthog movie star.
Do you love me? My warthog or my star?
And if one day a vile, twisted magic cleft my lip...severed my ears...
Would you love me then? I can't promise you you but I can promise you me.
And if one day a bright, pretty magic swept me into Brad Pitt?
Would you love me then? I can't promise you me but I can promise me you.
And if me fifty years later met you in the now? Old and cold and frail and pale...
Would you love me
Then?
It's alright. Sometimes I lie too. And like you, I don't know it either.
Sometimes the ugly things just surprise me and scare me so I
Say things I don't mean or mean to seem to mean to seem.
And then I'm not a warthog superstar but a frightened little boy
Staring at the darkness with my pretty, shiny toy.
Shhh.
I'm a warthog superstar.
And the nondescript person cannot be the killer.
-Subterfuge
Secrets of a serial killer.
Hey, I never promised it'd be any actual good. Worth mentioning because, like I said, one of those rare moments I just...did it, and then stared at the page later wondering what kind of weirdo I was. No, no, not going emo on anyone. This was way back, anyhow.
...Beats me. Sorry.
Please queue in an orderly manner for the refund of two minutes of your life.
3 comments:
Becci here.
Poetry from you is <3!
If you insult your poetry you'd be indirectly insulting half the globe. :3
Thank you, three people and a small yappy-type dog.
I accept your applause for my crap invention. -bows-
Update. Update now.
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