balls balls balls balls balls balls balls balls balls
So, when the bounty on my back becomes a deadweight, I almost wish
that I was apathetic. Wander on without worry. I fathom faith but I
cannot find it. I would blindly follow the moon if it would petrude
from behind the clouds. Dare anyone offer a hand, when I carry the
weight of everyone I have ever loved in my pocket? I feel as though
I am confessing trouble into the wind, and for a second it soothes
me, and seconds later it is beyond an echo away. The shitstorm
harbours it's intensity for when I think I am walking straight.
Wishes don't exist and neither does my backbone...I am late. I hear
no voices, but I hear a thousand. Oh, a
paradox. I'm on my own, but I'm not
alone. Another. Look at me, though -- I am
smiling against it; knowing I'll wake up soon in my bed, breathing,
right?


11 Comments
I want to say there, there. All will be well. :)
The problem (and the beauty) or pieces like this is that a lot is left to the imagination of the reader and so the meaning can come across as abstract. However, even if the central theme is obscurred, the emotions should stand out (for example, Armitage's 'Homecoming' is a profoundly unsettling piece of poetry, but not one of my classes can agree what it is exactly about!) - in this case, confusion and an almost crushing sense of hopelessness. What I would suggest is get some colour in there - give the painting something other than grey.
Click here to sign up now.