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BulletProofPrincess — Strangers.
Published: 2007-09-07 21:23:26 +0000 UTC; Views: 146; Favourites: 1; Downloads: 2
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Strangers.By Rachael
I traced the road with my four tires like I was trying to find some solace in an unconscious path of friendship
I stated the moments of bad, fracturing stress that set on the hill tops of open fields filled with incomplete tales
The death and dying prose tasted like red hate, but I still told you that you tasted like orange (I guess the sun was still on the spoon)
Tombstones held a scent of morose
I kept telling myself it wasn't the smell of neglect
I'm shaking inside these curtains of fire
I wanted to tell you that your face is a beautiful ray of compassion, but I kept choking on the words
I'll eat up every vicious thought of complete ignorance (I'm still not sure if that is a good form of happiness)
These reflections almost resembled shapes of wandering ghosts
These citations put in front of certain assembling view points made opposing reactions because figurines set forth for a sound of delusions
The chatter of politicians keep news reporters awake, but I still do not understand why some people are never aware of their surroundings
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Comments: 7
I understood this one, maybe not at all levels, but at least at a literal one. And i like it.
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Care to share what you understood?
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two people sitting in a car, one wants to tell the other some things, but they seem wrong or inappropriate, or just bad timing. I get the feeling its night, though nothing that i've noticed says that. The radio is keeping them awake, and the main person doesnt understand why the other doesn't realize the feelings... I'm gonna seem stupid, if im way off. So lie to me, ok? If im wrong. But if im right cool. Like i said, i never reach the bottom level of anything you write. Im lucky to scratch the surface.
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well, no ones point of view in poetry is truely wrong.
I mean, That is one reason why poets put their poetry out..
so others can find a relation to the words.
I never thought of your point of view, but I like the image.
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The first mercury won't become an endless fantasy of caramelized dreams, fragmented in hopeless empathies and filtered through calloused sin.
So the blessed heart fills with tears as the cursed heart wilts without a sound, and beats upon the door to Christmas.
Does the pain of loss stand up to the pain of memory? Or does the ambiguity of it all render complete ignorance as the most vicious (as you say) of thoughts?
When someone is primed for explosion, you -will-. see it in their eyes.
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I can't wait.
Thank you.
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