Poem? Hmmm, popcorn...
Apr. 14th, 2011 08:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brosedshield Well, huh.
Beneath the cut is a stream of consciousness snapshot of everything going on in my head right now. And footnotes.
My Life (This Moment) In 30 Lines
Popcorn is contagious, scent stuck in my nostrils like little kernels in my teeth.
Stories about slavery and love stuck in my head:
Aliens that don’t follow the laws,
Rules that skip over the unknown.
The Monster nagging at my heels like a neglected child
(Half love-baby, half romance with sharp, ripping teeth).
No vampires here my love, just we monsters in our human guise.
Don’t think my pretty teeth (orthodontia) make me harmless.
Old songs sliding me into the computer;
Epics (where is this ending I feel and have never heard?)
Beating their way into my heartbeat
Like rising bread drawing a breath, punched down.
Boy, why are you so sad without your dragon?
And why can’t I write you happy?
Popcorn (scent) in my throat. I want you on my tongue.
It’s not the length of your life, but what you do with it.
It’s what (s)he said. Or will.
Of all the things I want to write, why is it not you, beloved?
You are my soul-baby and I want to play with Dante in the circles of the saved.
I want to make an undying man dead and godless.
I want to sleep while the sun will take away my dreams.
I want to eat more than rice and lentils, wrapped in the sharp blue cheese.
I want to be a carnivore again.
I want a boy to meet a dragon and for everyone to be happy.
I want to write a romance novel. I want to stop writing a romance novel.
I want my monster-child to stop crying in my dreams at night.
It gnaws at my fingers in my sleep and I wake up and can’t type.
Now the music’s stopped, now the computer looses its hold
And my Monster claws but cannot hold on.
And I want popcorn.
* * *
Footnotes!
*Popcorn: two of my four roommates just made popcorn. And I have popcorn. And I have the (completely un-drug-related) munchies
*Aliens, love, slavery: I get plots like this in my head sometime. Even as they occupy headspace I know that they're not going anywhere. They don't have the momentum
*The Monster: Freak Camp, always Freak Camp.
*Old songs: listening to Sunset Rubdown. I have a feeling that this entire album tells an epic love/hate/loss story, but I only have two songs...
*Kev is a boy who meets a dragon. His first chapter has been unreasonably in progress for weeks now.
*Dante...undying man: I want to write a Divine Comedy/Torchwood crossover fic. But I should be writing Freak Camp
*Naps are good. Apparently sleeping at night is impossible
*I've been eating all the food in my house (because I don't want anything rotting while I go away for Holy Week) and I've been kinda sorta giving up meat for Lent anyway, but right now I have massive amounts of lentil and rice stuff, some cheese, and canned vegitables and fish, and that is IT. I want a hamburger.
But I'll probably settle for popcorn. :-))
Beneath the cut is a stream of consciousness snapshot of everything going on in my head right now. And footnotes.
My Life (This Moment) In 30 Lines
Popcorn is contagious, scent stuck in my nostrils like little kernels in my teeth.
Stories about slavery and love stuck in my head:
Aliens that don’t follow the laws,
Rules that skip over the unknown.
The Monster nagging at my heels like a neglected child
(Half love-baby, half romance with sharp, ripping teeth).
No vampires here my love, just we monsters in our human guise.
Don’t think my pretty teeth (orthodontia) make me harmless.
Old songs sliding me into the computer;
Epics (where is this ending I feel and have never heard?)
Beating their way into my heartbeat
Like rising bread drawing a breath, punched down.
Boy, why are you so sad without your dragon?
And why can’t I write you happy?
Popcorn (scent) in my throat. I want you on my tongue.
It’s not the length of your life, but what you do with it.
It’s what (s)he said. Or will.
Of all the things I want to write, why is it not you, beloved?
You are my soul-baby and I want to play with Dante in the circles of the saved.
I want to make an undying man dead and godless.
I want to sleep while the sun will take away my dreams.
I want to eat more than rice and lentils, wrapped in the sharp blue cheese.
I want to be a carnivore again.
I want a boy to meet a dragon and for everyone to be happy.
I want to write a romance novel. I want to stop writing a romance novel.
I want my monster-child to stop crying in my dreams at night.
It gnaws at my fingers in my sleep and I wake up and can’t type.
Now the music’s stopped, now the computer looses its hold
And my Monster claws but cannot hold on.
And I want popcorn.
* * *
Footnotes!
*Popcorn: two of my four roommates just made popcorn. And I have popcorn. And I have the (completely un-drug-related) munchies
*Aliens, love, slavery: I get plots like this in my head sometime. Even as they occupy headspace I know that they're not going anywhere. They don't have the momentum
*The Monster: Freak Camp, always Freak Camp.
*Old songs: listening to Sunset Rubdown. I have a feeling that this entire album tells an epic love/hate/loss story, but I only have two songs...
*Kev is a boy who meets a dragon. His first chapter has been unreasonably in progress for weeks now.
*Dante...undying man: I want to write a Divine Comedy/Torchwood crossover fic. But I should be writing Freak Camp
*Naps are good. Apparently sleeping at night is impossible
*I've been eating all the food in my house (because I don't want anything rotting while I go away for Holy Week) and I've been kinda sorta giving up meat for Lent anyway, but right now I have massive amounts of lentil and rice stuff, some cheese, and canned vegitables and fish, and that is IT. I want a hamburger.
But I'll probably settle for popcorn. :-))
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-04-15 08:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-15 08:24 am (UTC)Glad you liked it! Weird little poem, but I am fond of some of the images...*mutters to one'self*