He looks down at the paper, and it stares back
contemptuous and blank.
He rises, crosses the room, and pours himself another cup of coffee,
black, thick, and acrid with age.
He prays for something stronger, knowing it won't come.
The dope's long gone and he still can't find it:
poetry.
He screams and curses his muse
"Why are you not where I left you?"
But she is gone,
gone,
gone...
He attacks the page with his pen,
not as an artist does his canvas,
but as a beast does his prey,
stabbing and slashing words to cover the page.
He stares at it, and it stares at him
not poetry, but an inscribed extention of his sickness.
The dope is gone, and with it left the peace
and now the drug sick tension builds
and the hate as he remembers
those words from long ago
"As a poet I shall sacrafice anything for my craft"
but those words have lost their pride,
and now echo only in fear.
He picks up the glass hash pipe
and stares at it in frustration;
not enough resin for a quick buzz,
only enough for a quiet headache.
The words won't come, and the rage builds
until he shatters the glass piece against the wall
pulling at his hair he screams,
unsure if it is aloud or in his head
"How long have I been here?"
the empty whiskey bottles,
the cocaine residue on the desk,
the shattered hash pipe,
and countless empty Ziplocks littering the floor
are the only signs of elapsed time
"How long have I been here?
and how much longer will it be?"
He stares at the locked study door
and realizes he never made it out of jail.
He looks at the paper, marred with endless lines of senseless words
and tears it as this block has torn his soul.
"How much fucking longer?
Oh muse, where have you gone?!"
but the muse stays silent
for she has left him.
He looks to the shards of glass on the floor
and selects the biggest piece,
inhaling deeply, and whispering
"anything for my craft"
as he places it against his skin
and pulls.
And the poetry,
how it flows,
my God, how it flows.
Author notes
Intravenous Jesus
A contest entry
- personal poetry. ❤ by aanika.
1147 points, ended September 13, 2008, 40 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Favorites (Invite Only) by Lj-.
600 points, ended August 29, 2008, 24 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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I really like how this poem is liek a little scene into someone else's life.
Thank you for your entry,
Best of luck!
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this wasn't exactly what I was looking for in this contest,
but I really enjoyed it!
especially the last three lines.
very nice write.
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interesting... I can relate in small ways... I need to fix my gutair!!!
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Yeah, that's cool.
It reminds me of my heroin days.... lol. Like a month ago.
You captured some really realistic and interesting emotions.
Well done.
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very intense and powerful...the plight of a poet can be like this also.....
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screen name in author's notes please.
I'll comment for real later. -
Wow, this is one very intense and powerful write you've been able to create here! It's really well put together, and I especially liked these lines:
"He attacks the page with his pen,
not as an artist does his canvas,
but as a beast does his prey,
stabbing and slashing words to cover the page."
I could easily envision this scene in my mind, and I had oftentimes felt this writer's pain when it comes to writer's block! I don't even try to write anymore unless the mood strikes me. I just doesn't seem to work for me otherwise. lol. Good writing, and thanks for the comments!
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tanks a lot, I really appreciate your comment and clappy guys. Hey, by the way,if you were interested, I have a contest going on right now. I don't know if it's your style or not, but check it out. I made it so that there's an entry fee of fifty points that's added to the gold trophy winnings, just to spice it up, but I would be so pleased if you entered that I would pay your fee myself. If you'll take me up on the offer, just put your name in the author's notes so I know to cover your cost.
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Maybe dude should have just huffed a marker? 0_o;
Found a typo:
"He rises, crosses the room, and pours himself another cup uf coffee,"
'uf' should be 'of
And wow...all about the drugs, indeed. Loved how you captured the essence of 'I'm still coming down and it sucks' with this piece. That last stanza...perfection in written form. Cheers!
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Thanks fer catchin the typo, I'm gonna fix that. Oh, and thanks for the compliments and the little clappy smiley guy!
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My pleasure, dear.
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