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Ode to the Darlings of Interpretation
Dark and diligent, dimwitted doubt
Haunt my doom,
Closeting relief and calm,
Shiver shaking shrines of yesterday,
Licking luscious memories,
Into a shard of a popsicle stick
That slowly bites the tongue.
Drops of stupidity
Spilling into rationality puddles
Splattered across a forehead without direction
Neither in time nor magnitude.
Paint an abstract work-- stupid.
Nobody knows what it’s really about.
You thought it might have been
Unique-- you know?
And then manipulated into crap by crowd.
Facet by facet,
Shatter by shatter,
Glass is better.
At least an imitation, piece of flattery
Vapid, emotionless energy
Fashioned into fashion.
The sand in your timepiece of a brain
The hands that you thought so skilled
Weakened by fight.
Fill me with doubts and lets see how far I can go.
A bullet flies so fast you say
But I know what goes faster
And the metal taste lies between my palms because this is where I’m staying.
In the place between wanting, living and caring.
Interpretation is so broad
And perhaps my own is the only that matters
According to many who are mentally superior
But I have a strong feeling in the skeleton
That my interpretation might not be much better.
Sad songs are my symphony,
Tears are my cronies,
I like to lie in bed and dream of things unsaid.
Perhaps things had started to look a little better and then someone muttered “but see what’s the matter?”…