aplus
01-07-2005, 11:20 AM
http://slumz.boxden.com/showthread.php?t=145695
This is something I wrote, and I might give to my girlfriend. It is the only way I could explain why I am the way I am, so cynical and angry and sometimes an a**hole. Let me know what you think...some of ya'll might even relate...Please crit...I am trying to work out of my writer's block, and it is a cold, evil place to be in.
I’ve Been Downhearted, Baby
If you heard an excerpt
From my fractured biography
It would sound like an insomniac’s lullaby.
I may tell you, if you could comprehend,
About me, genius in its crudest form,
A man defined only by his limitations.
I might explain that I’m like a jazz musician
On the precipice of some imagined rhythm
Waiting for inspiration’s arrival.
My strange appetite
For good fights, cold beer, and hot sex
Is simply a soft delusion of happiness
Tiny barbed pleasures that get in the way
When I should stay focused
And use ambition as collateral
Towards leasing my dreams.
But I’ve wasted weeks
On wage labor and frustration,
I’ve eaten cans of Starkist as meals
Pretending to be full,
And I’ve loaned a lifetime
To substitute lovers and surrogate friends,
Receiving zero return on investment.
I’ve emerged from adversity
And distanced myself from its toxic embrace,
Yet my spirit seems tainted.
It’s an ache that exists even when I smile
An undertone that runs deeper than melanin
I’ve been downhearted, baby
That’s why I stay so quiet
And why sometimes
When I am at my happiest,
I still feel miserable.
This is something I wrote, and I might give to my girlfriend. It is the only way I could explain why I am the way I am, so cynical and angry and sometimes an a**hole. Let me know what you think...some of ya'll might even relate...Please crit...I am trying to work out of my writer's block, and it is a cold, evil place to be in.
I’ve Been Downhearted, Baby
If you heard an excerpt
From my fractured biography
It would sound like an insomniac’s lullaby.
I may tell you, if you could comprehend,
About me, genius in its crudest form,
A man defined only by his limitations.
I might explain that I’m like a jazz musician
On the precipice of some imagined rhythm
Waiting for inspiration’s arrival.
My strange appetite
For good fights, cold beer, and hot sex
Is simply a soft delusion of happiness
Tiny barbed pleasures that get in the way
When I should stay focused
And use ambition as collateral
Towards leasing my dreams.
But I’ve wasted weeks
On wage labor and frustration,
I’ve eaten cans of Starkist as meals
Pretending to be full,
And I’ve loaned a lifetime
To substitute lovers and surrogate friends,
Receiving zero return on investment.
I’ve emerged from adversity
And distanced myself from its toxic embrace,
Yet my spirit seems tainted.
It’s an ache that exists even when I smile
An undertone that runs deeper than melanin
I’ve been downhearted, baby
That’s why I stay so quiet
And why sometimes
When I am at my happiest,
I still feel miserable.