Somewhere in my subconscious an artist is killing himself
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Poetry >> Somewhere in my subconscious an artist is killing himself
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Somewhere in my subconscious an artist is killing himself
he pulls the onion skin
off the mood he's in
hears it crackle as it
hits the floor
he breathes in again
feels the heat again
in this dream he's in
he wants more
puts a new coat on
takes his glasses off
rubs his temple where
the visions throb
folds into himself
all his visual wealth
rolls a cigarette
and drags it down
smokes another one
reaches for the gun
picks a canvas from
the littered ground
when the bullet flies
blood gets in his eyes
splatters on the quaint
acrylic town
Its raining red again
his eyes are opening
Its raining red again
his eyes are opening
Its raining red again
his eyes are opening
and he can finally see
past the imagery
he can finally see
plain white walls
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Comment by: - 2006-04-21 15:58
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| This is in my opinion of course- the best I've read of yours beside the stunning "Suns, Death. . ." These words speak to a concept where theres some metaphoric membrain like a placenta that the artist rips and tears at to birth himself - and at the same time protects against letting it all rip so to speak. Really exquisitely lonely fullfilling pain described like madness lurking. Thats what Im getting anyway. |
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| I can feel the stir of the beat, some of the rise of the melody. I don't often go that far with peices that are supposed to be songs, but yours is really "there" already. Very surprising and pleasing to come across it. thanks |
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| I'm not sure what you mean by that. . . |
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| I am having a little trouble matching the body of your poem (song)up with the title. |
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| this is more a song than a poem - a chanty mellow kind of song that gets rampant at the repeated lines and is mixed with a triple based drum beat. . . one of those poems i wouldn't know i wrote if i din't recognize the handwriting. |
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