An offensive mirror
produces my face
as my ears listen to
a hackneyed heart beat
The stench of stagnant
breath confirms my
identity and smoker’s
status. Sixty a day
The cold floor is held
by blood drained feet,
a razor is held in my hand
at a mannequin angle
Whilst the bile in my throat and
the fur on my tongue become
congealed with the sickly
sweet syrup of fading life
The door behind falls open on
its own axis and the mirror
reveals an empty room effused
with a pall of used smoke
like grey mists rising on a moor,
seeking fresh lungs to enbalm.
I see a shadow of someone waiting.
And that someone is me
Self-Reproach
Successfully dark in the images you create. 60 a day is certainly going some if this is as true as it reads. It is interesting as many smokers say that it is one of their few pleasures. (I gave up smoking when I was 22 and saving up to get married - I was never able to afford starting again after marriage lol).
All that I had I brought,
Little enough I know;
A poor rhyme roughly wrought,
A rose to match thy snow:
All that I had I brought.
(Ernest Dowson 1867 - 1900)
Little enough I know;
A poor rhyme roughly wrought,
A rose to match thy snow:
All that I had I brought.
(Ernest Dowson 1867 - 1900)
An offensive mirror Great opening. Straight in there.
produces my face
as my ears listen to
a hackneyed heart beat
The stench of stagnant Wow, I can smell ya from here.
Holy Jayzus, 60 a day
breath confirms my
identity and smoker’s
status. Sixty a day
The cold floor held
by blood drained feet,
a razor held in hand
at mannequin angle
The bile in my throat and Not keen on the hanging and
the fur on my tongue
congealed with the sickly Hmmm, should that be congeals ?
sweet syrup of fading life
The door behind falls open on
its own axis and the mirror
reveals an empty room effused
with a pall of used smoke
like grey mists rising on a moor, Great imagery . Powerful line
seeking fresh lungs to enbalm.
I see a shadow of someone waiting.
And that someone is me.
Really enjoyed reading this Trobbo.
Strong piece, as are the rest of posts.
produces my face
as my ears listen to
a hackneyed heart beat
The stench of stagnant Wow, I can smell ya from here.
Holy Jayzus, 60 a daybreath confirms my
identity and smoker’s
status. Sixty a day
The cold floor held
by blood drained feet,
a razor held in hand
at mannequin angle
The bile in my throat and Not keen on the hanging and
the fur on my tongue
congealed with the sickly Hmmm, should that be congeals ?
sweet syrup of fading life
The door behind falls open on
its own axis and the mirror
reveals an empty room effused
with a pall of used smoke
like grey mists rising on a moor, Great imagery . Powerful line
seeking fresh lungs to enbalm.
I see a shadow of someone waiting.
And that someone is me.
Really enjoyed reading this Trobbo.
Strong piece, as are the rest of posts.
I absolutely love the opening. Sets the tone immediately!
"An offensive mirror
produces my face"
and, to me, you nailed the ending.
"like grey mists rising on a moor,
seeking fresh lungs to embalm.
I see a shadow of someone waiting.
And that someone is me"
However, it seems to me the second half of S3 and S4 don't flow as smoothly.
Steve
"An offensive mirror
produces my face"
and, to me, you nailed the ending.
"like grey mists rising on a moor,
seeking fresh lungs to embalm.
I see a shadow of someone waiting.
And that someone is me"
However, it seems to me the second half of S3 and S4 don't flow as smoothly.
Steve
trobbo - We can lie to a lover, a parent, a priest and a friend but the image in the mirror always knows the truth no matter how many times we lie to it and which may account for why some people just stop looking so as to avoid the reproaching eye they know is waiting there. Most enjoyed trobbo. Namyh
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backinblack
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Wow, my first read back on these forums for quite sometime and a fitting reintroduction, thoroughly enjoyed the deep dark images here,look forward to reading more of your stuff, thanks
Poems everybody...poems.. the laddie fancies himself a poet!..Pink Floyd-The wall.