Sunday, September 23, 2007

A FUCKING ABSENCE OF

I
Words.
Too many words, too many,
This is an addiction,
To spill the wrong words
Cupped in your hand
And let it baptize sinners
When all they needed
Was a fucking bath.

II
Drugs and alcohol.
Never too much, too little maybe,
All in the wrong veins
Like the legs and hands
Leaving blank pages
And empty roads
When all you wanted
Was to give your mind a break.

III
You.
Never enough, or too much
In my head and body,
Always flitting about
In these sanitized words,
Wine and substances, ingested
And rejected and now inflicted
On the general population who need a laugh.

3 comments:

iamnasra said...

Why the anger ...Enjoyed being within your poetry though

..N.. said...

Ah! How very nice to see you again!

You are one of the finest poets I have ever come across and I dont say this lightly. It would be quite an honour to get to know you.

Do you have a mail id? Or could you drop me a mail at nocturne.noire@gmail.com

..N.. said...

III - How very true! One man's pain is another man's pleasure.