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Array
(
[sid] => 7976
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => It was hard for you.
[time] => 2002-12-05 03:20:00
[hometext] => whatyoulookingat????
[bodytext] => It was hard for you,
To keep that face, of edgy supermodels Pulling off the gritty shots. Angry sex. Caught cold in photography. And men who lie. But You hold it picture perfect Walk like you want it, Spasm in the flashes of cameras and lies, To that melody of journalists in this whole fake convulsion Who needed your head ahead of your body. And yeah, it made no sense. Still, one year less than safe you learnt what it all was about The priests who'd wink at plastic And all that jazz. All this and a coffee machine, On that walk to her bed, Screams clean enough to make those virgins, Who can actually push out babies Be dirty. And those dull echoes of biting shoes, To rip your skin and make you beautiful Knock out chromatic scales Like some old, lonely trinity Against hospital floors. That father Whose gun You wanted the most. Was just too late, and sleeping when you knocked for him So, you watch her forget how to breathe And other important things Like locking doors behind you, And how stark strip lights will drain you If the make-up's not right. And well, because you learnt split ends were sin Before you learnt about murder And celebrity game shows etc etc You wished she might leave with more dignity. And mascara. You did love her, but she meant nothing to you. So just drop down to night. Pretend you do not hear the sound Of little boys Throwing gravestones at her windows To wake her. Watch her shine down the drainpipe And go running under stars in wet fields Before the houses come again, in the morning. O but she is old now So let housing estates be Britains second skin, The place where you must get your first lay, Smoke your first high, Kiss your first low, And drive stolen cars like used needles To make the tarmac thirsty. You hit and run her vein, And once, she almost dared to look you in the eye Then remembered That she was old now, and stuff. Puncture marks like birthday candles, And wrinkles spell out every Christmas tree You will ever touch. They said "Life goes faster, as you grow older" But She was shrinking. And smaller than you now. You played dot to dot on her skin, Watched those fake flowers that you held against your chest Bloom out of her pores. Then drown away each word you could never quite tell her. Die, dying and death Are not four letter words. Dead is. So, in that soft glow of her fingernails, When she moves her hand to you Just one last time It will all depend on the way you look at things. You bend down Kiss her ear with words - "Everything to ever happen, Was only for you, Sick women, You never met, Somewhere in Africa, Pick grains of rice Up, out of the sand, So if you should ever happen to walk by, They do not get trapped in the grooves on your shoe." But, it was more realistic I think More natural With breaks To swallow air And drown away that ache of your bones crying to know your Grandma. Though she was already gone. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 146 [topic] => 41 [informant] => poopoo [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => political )
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