Sometimes I sing myself a lullaby
To remind myself that you’re gone.
I remember when you would put me to sleep
So I couldn’t cry anymore so sometimes
I scream into the pillow and pretend I’m laughing
Into your chest because if I lose the memories, too,
I’ll lose this thin strand of old spiders’ web
That composes what you were to me
Are! Are to me.
I like to believe you still love me
After everything, after you left me,
After you tore yourself from my bed.
Sometimes I shout your name into the darkness
After “lights out”
Just to see if you can hear me in the void
They say you entered.
They say you’re my Porphyria
But that’s simply unbelievable inconceivable incredible totally inedible.
If you were Porphyria, you’d be dead
But you’re just gone and I remember that when I
Sing myself a lullaby
Because no one’s here to sing it for me.
White walls damp the sound of what should be sweetly
Cast to the rooftops and beyond so I have to
Sing myself a lullaby
Sing myself to sleep
And I had to pin you to the bed to keep you here
So you wouldn’t leave me
But you’re gone because I wasn’t good enough
And an effigy you fell away was torn away from
Effigy me even though I held you there and wondered
Why crying blood always looked better than tears
Especially because I couldn’t see your eyes anymore, anyway but
Your mouth was open to sing me a lullaby
So I could go to sleep in your arms
And now this canvas is the only thing holding me but still
I sing myself a lullaby
Even though you’re gone.
---
Simple poem, really, but I wanted to try to write something like this. I think it's too... something. Wrote it quickly one day for fun, mostly stressing the "sing myself a lullaby" idea because it's all sad and therefore wonderful material for lyrical poetry. I think I could do something less creepy with that line, though, and I might later.
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Carpe Diem Ad Muertum
Sieze the day, to the death. There is no potential that shall be passed by, there is no piece of glory to fall by the wayside, there is no soul to left unsaved by the brilliance of language. As writers, we are gods.
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User Comments: [1] [add]
User Comments: [1] [add]
Community Member
Did you know that in Japan, Autumn is considered the season of creativity, art, and literature? Wonder if that holds true in North America...?
But onto the feedback:
The first two lines were...wow...like a black hole. It really drew me in, despite the warning sign that was going off in my head saying "danger: possible angst ahead".
Some things I really enjoyed were: the literary allusion to Porphyria (I actually really liked that poem in class, even if most people thought it was too creepy to be romantic), the slew of internal rhyming and consonance (though you might want to consider switching the order of the words, because it was hard to read through smoothly and I tripped over it a bit), this:
That composes what you were to me
Are! Are to me.
because it's so slam poetry-ish; I can clearly hear it being performed in my head, and the emotion is so strong there, and this:
But you’re gone because I wasn’t good enough
And an effigy you fell away was torn away from
Effigy me even though I held you thereand wondered
Why crying blood always looked better than tears
because whether it was deliberate or not, that part showed a slip in psychological control on the part of the speaker, in my opinion. The words naturally flowed faster than my brain could process them and then came to a stop and return to tempo where those lines ended, which was a very nice touch.
When I read it through the first time, I had a hard time deciding if the speaker was referring to someone who passed away or simply left his life. I think I decided after the second reading that she died and he's in denial about it. Though knowing you, this might all be a huge metaphor for something and I haven't caught on yet.
It was good, overall. If you do decide to edit/polish it, I'd like to see what the final result is.