now playing:
vylet pony - city of the silent
I look up at the moon on a crisp march night,
and think about what could have been if I might.
Playing with your memory like dolls in my head,
feeding off the carrion of every word you said.
Unsubstantiated fears and unsasiated tears,
wasting to dust after many long years.
The way the subeams hit your eye,
Like many cobwebs deep inside.
I was at the feet of the Virgin
I was praying for my deliverance.
She responded everybody's got to pay the price of limerance.
I wish I may, I wish I might have
Kept your soul, if only for a night.
fuck you. you wanted this.
your picturesque fiction fizzled out
in the artificial rain.
are you happy now?
you got what you wanted.
you got what you deserved.
you got what you fought for.
a portrait of no-one in a gallery of everyone.
reduced to mere clichés.
dolls in your head. feeding off the dead.
now in the hour of your death i can pray for you
no longer. die faggot.
pay for your limerance.
i wrote this one in a not so great mental state. tbf i only ever really write poetry when im in a not great mental state. i do think this poem is rather derivative of vylet pony especially the song hush!. i think carousel (an examination of the shadow, creekflow, and its life as an afterthought) is growing on me in a way no other album has. i'm really growing to understand its themes and find meaning where I really hadn't before. Anyway i had a particuarly bad night. i've actually been working on this poem since august? i think? the only bit I had until recently was "Playing with your memory like dolls in my head, feeding of the carrion of every word you said", which I wrote to moonlight sonata and the title, which was originally "I shouldn't tell you". The poem is a dialogue between my two outlooks on the same issue of yearning and limerance, my more critical one being personified as the Virgin Mary. I actually wrote the first verse with no intention of doing a dialogue, but I actually started to really hate myself while writing, pretty much writing a scathing criticism of my own flimsy beliefs. if only i had, if only i hadn't lost you... regret is weak in a way. you didn't. you didn't fight hard enough for what you wanted and therefore you got what you deserved. the second stanza initially featured no capitalisation because i was in a self-hating frenzy but when i was writing the end it was a more conscious choice as an inversion of reverential capitalisation. i hold no reverence for the views i present. i hate them. they are mere nostalgia for a time that is yet to come. they are giving up.