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« on: February 20, 2015, 11:32:09 PM »
I've fallen into an odd habit lately of singing made up lyrics to myself whenever my brain finds itself idle. There's nothing musical or romantically minstrel about it. I would blame the drugs but I haven't touched yola in years now and everything else pales in comparison to that sweet vortex of sludge.
I want to keep track of what I'm saying as I can remember them. These ditties are nothing but the dirty deeds of things I've seen and more often done. They're spilling out of me as if what little conscience I have left can't take it anymore and wants to hack those memories up and out like yesterday's mucus.
What's odder still is I'm crooning about foul acts that harken back to an earlier time, not last week but years ago.
F**k. Even when I'm trying to analytically examine my brain I'm resorting to this flowery bullsh*t. "Harken," as if I use that word all the live long day.
So what it is it now driving out that little poet I never knew hiding underneath my tongue?
Usually in my line of work I can see most situations others would shy away or puke up their lunch from as just another necessity to keep my head afloat. It's rare that I second guess myself once I decide to muck up my hands with stains that never fully scrub away. And sure, I can admit I've come to even enjoy it in a way that horrifies me in how far I've unraveled from my own humanity.
Or maybe I'm wrong, and that last shred of decency buried deep within my throat has found a way to cry out its truth. And where can I run to when it calls on my voice and travels with me?
----
Song For K:
And down to the river she dragged him, she dragged him,
Down to the river she dragged him, still as stone.
Still as stone, and still as heavy,
he sank to the bottom, to the bottom with his gold.
Gold will never save him, can't keep him from the cold.
Gold will never save him, when his bones roll on the river floor.
She left him for the fishes, for the fishes in the water.
She left him in the river, because he would not let it go.
Song For D:
Her face shone with moonlight, pale brightness in the dark.
Her cheeks carved from ivory, they held not one flaw.
Her ears though did not hear me and her head paid me no mind.
That's how I caught her, snuck up on her from behind.
Goodnight, little moon doll,
Goodnight, ivory bone bright,
Sleep now, keep deaf now,
For the timing's just right.
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