They all still think that they know me
Believing her seasoned bullshit
As the ballots are recounted for the high court
I attend the festivities
Upon being forced into another supportive shell
For the cold audience members
It’s then that I think about him
Even though we haven’t spoken since
My nerves drunkenly leapt out of my mouth
Before I pressed it up against his
“You’re too young to know any better” was what I expected to hear
But instead he referred me to the toilet seat
As I had another conversation with the swirled abyss
The same story repeated itself
After the fire and the dance
The administrative problems
Before cheers of success
Rooted in the fickle
And lacking reality-soaked goggles
I’m not sure what kind of statue
I’m trying to be anymore
Numbing my expressions
And replying to advances in the same fashion
Until I see him
Except he’s distorted
And when the blurs finally do part
I know that it’s just petty imitation
On both sides of the line
Nevertheless
I swallow the same true blue answers
And call this kind of denial a passing fad
At least until the next semester
- C.W.
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1 comment:
c.w., love your shit. you know this. now that i've been reading your posts for a while now, i would like to offer a suggestion: try playing with your line breaks. i think you use very lovely language, and maintain an almost narrative quality to your "poems." don't feel limited to space and structure is all i'm saying. i think if you thought more about where to cut your lines, your pieces would be even better. maybe you all have it planned out this way for a reason. if that's the case, keep truckin!
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