You feed your disorders
with paranoia
and lapse the salt
from chipped teeth
to numb a starvation
only the rich can afford
Tequilla sunrises taste like tears
and now happiness is a disease
a salesman that feeds you
with ash and tar
calms the hemorhaging
until you're nearly dead
You're not very far
from the murmur and the memory
There's a grenade with a smile
buried in your stomach
and you peel away the skin
to wash away moment
with a little more alcohol
Congratulate the dry eyes
the touch
the fake smile
We all feel plastic
romantic, destitute prostitutes
selling ourselves for rust
and a chainsaw
And still the world bleeds for you
and you don't give a damn
with your bleeding hand that feeds
to quench a hunger of starvation
Diet trusts, another wound in the forehead
Till to fill the swollen soul
with cinder and silt. Another pill
to sweetly numb sensations of
idealism
because surrealism is an ego
and realism is a lie
Author notes
Option II
I don't really know whereeee this went.
RfaD is such a profound movie, too.
A contest entry
- Options Contest. Give me something good. by Cavca.
525 points, ended March 21, 2008, 10 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
That certainly said a lot. I really love the end. "because surrealism is an ego//and realism is a lie." Those lines are powerful. It says so much that I'm not sure I entirely understand it as well as you wrote it. For instance, I know that "We all feel plastic//romantic, destitute prostitutes//selling ourselves for rust//and a chainsaw" means something more than I'm getting. I get the plastic...destitute prostitutes part, but the phrase "selling ourselves for rust and a chainsaw" is alluding me. It is very well written, however. And I wish you good luck in this contest. ^^
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