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Author: mojymo
Elite Ratio:    6.43 - 50 /59 /41
Words: 192
Class/Type: Poetry /Misc
Total Views: 900
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 1207



Wake up at 3 am and can't get back to sleep,
pissed off that your bed no longer brings you
the comfort that you crave,
your pillow cannot absorb the nightmares
as they did when you were a child.
Hiding under the covers is too old-fashioned.
Plus, it's too hot to breathe the taste
of your own unclean breath.

So you wait for dawn to meet you
and fall out of bed on the floor
to lay on your back
and chat with your ceiling.
You explain your plight
and laugh at his jokes.
But the scum of yourself
settles in your mind for a long nap.
Before you know it, your laughter disappears
with the moon,
and on the other side of the world,
someone catches your insanity.

You're not a disease, I tell you.
Just a temporary infection that I love.
Wipe the grave dirt of self-pity off your naked body
and creep back into bed.
Take the day off from your trashy life
and dream of scum.

I'll wait for you to awake
and chat with me again.

End: 10:38 pm
Tues. Aug. 25, 09

Submitted on 2009-08-25 21:40:41     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  Lap it up with an excited tongue
trying to jump out of your mouth,
hoping to unhinge your jaw,
snap the bone,
and cause the rush of blood to fall
like angry, meaningless words
in an argument between lovers.

Useless stanza.

The rest reminds me of Mysterious Skin. Everything reminds me of Mysterious Skin. What a good movie. Good, but absolutely disgusting in terms of what he puts himself through and the vile intentions of some pedophiles out there. Don't be a pedophile.
But it reminds me of that movie because one of the characters has dreams that scare him, things that he doesn't remember (or his memory repressed) and he wakes up with nose bleeds and fear.
That has nothing to do with anything, I've noticed, but waking up (or not being able to sleep) because of these feelings of failure and borderline depression is not a way to live. And the floor is an awful place to sleep. Your ceiling is still an inanimate place. It's not a place to imagine voices or a dialogue. The ceiling is too plain for that. It's a good place to catch a disease though... which you've caught, it seems. Insanity! Solitude can cause insanity. And if you don't sleep for 72 (72?) hours, you're considered clinically insane.
In the last part... are you the ceiling? So you're making people insane! HA. HAA! You think I wouldn't catch onto that!
But no, insomnia and depression is serious. You sound like a maniac here.
| Posted on 2009-12-12 00:00:00 | by JenFlynn | [ Reply to This ]
  at first when i started reading i thought that it wasn't going to be good in all honesty because of the way you had begun it..but i kept on reading and you really surprised me...this was actually vey insightful...i really liked it...i can completely relate to what you are talking you feel like dirt and you hate yourself and you don't want to do anything but just la on the floor bleeding because that's what you feel is the best for you

anyways i really like it in the end..but i would suggest changing how you begun the poem...but that's just my opinion
keep writing~taintedsmiles
| Posted on 2009-08-26 00:00:00 | by taintedsmiles | [ Reply to This ]

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