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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 18:48:50 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 95881
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Fallen Pop Star
[time] => 2005-05-26 19:46:15
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Schizophranic melodies whisper sweet nothings past the ear and into the brain. It's not sane, it's not sane, you mumble a jumble of denial to yourself. When all is not well you sing to yourself, like there is and has never been anyone else. It starts as words fall from your face, like vomit it scatters all over the place, until it finds form in the way and the shape and the meaning gives it the reason to be. It makes more sense now that it happily carries a tune in a paper bag. Verses flow like the blood in your veins, it's not sane, it's not sane you sing to yourself anyways, ignoring the critics with all their praise. It comes so easy it make you dizzy at the rate of the form with meaningless rhyme you mange to keep in time all the time, they stare in wonder, minds torn asunder, at your operatic opus in a baritone thunder. It's not sane, it's not sane, you wind down all the same. In all your glory, you forget to breathe, forgot the neccesary reprieve that keeps you alive. On a padded stage you burn and rage, until the inevitable future pulls air from your lungs. You die. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 171 [topic] => 59 [informant] => CodyJ [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 3 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => psychoticpoems )
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