The Mind's a Funny Thing
Sinfully torn between a symphony born of melodic thoughts
officially sworn to scheme, sinful needs thorn episodic plots
initially formed by simple beings, worn from periodic haunts
viscously scorned by simple means born of psychotic taunts,
neurotic wants, and chaotic flaunts, of mans mental instability
A detrimental disability of cranial fabrics & general sensibility
: pen plops down with a thud :
The mind's a funny thing...
...so I humbly sing
in tune w/ sorrow, consumed...
...by a hollow heart
and express with pen inked...
...in a shallow art
my last impart pressed...
...forever in text,
with the brilliance of a mind...
...gone vexed,
my minds gone & all that's left...
...is an empty vessel,
spilt booze & these lines I've left!
[ The stench of a liver marinated through a life of drink
escapes the lips on the tail end of each breath in sync
with each word he speaks thru his lonesome sorrows
alone w/ a bottle half smashed off the contents in glass
a liquid inspiration to bask in his desperation full flask
were the thirst for life is quenched by the sands of time
swallowed by brilliant minds scribed on pages of fine
literature, described by visuals defined by the residual
effects of absinthe while absent from original context
melting facets of integrity like faucets of aboriginal text
flowing forth like ice water tapped from creative veins
of those who gorge on the flesh of metaphor and pain
in meadows born of rain where words flower off two-lips
& tulips shower off moonlit backdrops inked in new script
a solemn world of bottled booze in smoke filled rooms
where chasing dragons spark a dance with fire & muse ]
Burdened as the carpenter
...of written word,
in stammered verse, I'm
...hammered first,
& damned by an aching thirst
...like the damned,
who awaken first under
... an ancient curse,
starved for blood in a world
...of bleeding arts,
the drinking starts at the jugular
...of beating hearts,
like verbal darts I play sharp
...games on cork,
& hit bulls eyes w/ points
...well forked,
in roads paved by words
...I've posed,
as an innovator of prose
...& proposed,
to many a coke bottle shape
...now I tremble,
& shake until I consume
...my fill,
of the venoms I snake
...milked from the,
fangs of a poisonous make
...my strike of pen
is likened to a strike from ten
...Saw Scaled Vipers,
lying in wait, dying to take
...the life of men,
[ A Farewell to Arms? When a double barrel death barrows
thru thoughts & shattered grey matter splatters on clocks
just to be mindful of a time before shock therapy primmed
the shells that eventually blew this mind in a cabin of logs
rabid like dogs his mouth foamed as he violently twitched
in a pool of blood as his shotgun crashed on the cold floor
the blast tore thru his cranial plate & wiped his slate clean
it's morbidly ironic this iconic symbol's farewell rang out
by armed means, the death of a true master craftsman
fashioned by suicide as his passion to write said good night
and the gleam in his minds eye burned out like candles
left in the wind, creative juices dried out, theres no doubt
it's curtain call, time to put an end to all that hurts him raw
so he pours one last drink past quivering lips on a face
soon to be ripped off & puts the glass down by the last page
of the memoirs he's passed down... ]
: thunderous blast :
The mind's a funny thing...
...so I humbly sing
in tune w/ sorrow, consumed...
...by a hollow heart
and express with pen inked...
...in a shallow art
my last impart pressed...
...forever in text,
with the brilliance of a mind...
...gone vexed,
my minds gone & all that's left...
...is an empty vessel,
spilt booze & these lines I've left!
In memory of Ernest Hemingway who killed himself with his favorite shotgun in a log cabin in Ketcham, Idaho on July 2, 1961.
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Originally Posted by Bounce
.. lol
