a fucked up poem i wrote on pcp (not any good but fucked up)

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Kitten
Big Ears
Posts: 83
Joined: Mon Mar 08, 2004 3:08 am
Location: sc

a fucked up poem i wrote on pcp (not any good but fucked up)

Post by Kitten »

He called yesterday because it was his birthday:
This means nothing to me because he is only a year older-
Not wiser.
It feels great having the prism stabbed in me
Over and over again
Mental orgasm
Til there's a spectrum of colors
That the rest of you are blind to.
I enjoy being stabbed in the head with blades
Of grass.
No, liquor will not help you with this, drug virgin.
The White Market of drinks is such a bore.

My family likes Ivy and so do you.
These are the vines that choked me a year ago:
They still keep it all twisted inside.

I tried to get into your head the other day
By watching A Clockwork Orange
I found these to be your truths self-evident:
The Rape was not Jack Daniels' mistake-
It was what you wanted.
Suicide is a genuinely humorous concept.
Statues of girls are much more pleasant:
You'll never be committed but they always will be
For cutting themselves
From The Ivy.
If I put out
I'm afraid you'll pull out
Of this.

Refraction and reflection of reality-
Please don't make me come down from my chandelier.
Shards of glass and stars of color and blood:
I never want to stop looking through these at you down below.
I will keep my black wings close just in case
I have to dive
If I am to be committed
It will not be to you.
Next time I fall to the carpet with leaves of cash
Please don't cut me open like before.
You can follow me if you want
Sleeping debutante on the hotel floor
We can drift up to the ceiling & pity those who can't hang from crystal branches like us.
I will take your injections like love.

The azalea garden out front bears testimony to our cigarette graveyard.
Like the grass, I burn and curl into a fetal position
Oh they cut me from the vine and I won't be growing back.
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