OK so this is how it is. Your perfume clouds my mind. I cannot think. Your colours are a little too vibrant. Van Gogh. Disturbing.
They mock my less-than-neat little world with emotions bottled away and emasculated happiness.
You pace up and down, hands behind your back, forehead furrowed in mock concern. I laugh because I can't help it. We share a Coke, and then a coffee and then a brandy and then some rum. (Please don't mix my drinks or I'll puke all over you, it's what I do:
Projectile vomitting is an art,
and I do it so well,
I do it so it feels like hell,
I do it so it feels real...
Sometimes I don't think it's so bad existing in these fringes and watching other people.
Drama is passing.
Drama has passed.
Drama was "this too."
You know what I mean? You know what I'm saying?
Sometimes when I'm shuffling along the street wrapped in my own thoughts I think I catch a glimpse of you. I turn slowly. Not swiftly because that's not how you do it with wraiths. If you turn quickly, you see the edge of a smile as it disappears. Cheshire Cat-like. If you turn slowly you see nothing.
And nothing is what I want to see.
Get it?
Each smile I see spread out in front of me, on those faces, faces, faces in the crowd, has a meaning. And I see one smile, sad, tentative, haunted, begging for permission. I watch that smile and feel my heart contract. I watch that smile until it disappears because it is the smile I know best.
You know what I'm saying?
There is silence and performance and something in between. There is silence and screaming and nothing in between. There is silence and tears.
There is silence.
Silence.
Silence.
You're gone now.
And you didn't say goodbye.
Goodbye.
6 comments:
Out of the hurl
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
I've never heard anything so apt in my life!
"Lady Lazarus" is an absolute favorite of mine. Hopefully Sylvia will forgive us for our reinterpretation
Who would have thought, of all her poems, this would have been the one to stick?
Oh good grief this is such a good piece!
How do you manage to write whacked out stuff such as the one below?
Amazing! :)
"...Drama is passing.
Drama has passed.
Drama was "this too."
You know what I mean? You know what I'm saying?
Sometimes when I'm shuffling along the street wrapped in my own thoughts I think I catch a glimpse of you. I turn slowly. Not swiftly because that's not how you do it with wraiths. If you turn quickly, you see the edge of a smile as it disappears. Cheshire Cat-like. If you turn slowly you see nothing.
And nothing is what I want to see.
Get it?..."
My dear John, your praise means so much to me wading here in the mire of my own thoughts.
I write to escape.
You know that.
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