Thursday, March 7, 2013

It's Art, It's Art, It's Art.

It's art, it's art, it's art.
And it'll split the artist apart.
Daddy doesn't love you to his own despair,
Can't mend your heart with your mind repaired.

It's all, it's all, it's fall.
Madness in my shawl.
For the good of the soul, extricate me now.
Let the earth strike open, replicate somehow.

Mirrors, mirrors, shards.
Kings of Queens of Cards.
Double vision, the cerebellum is torn.
From the fire of passion, the devil is borne.

Tear, tear, and bear.
My body is now but air.
My skin is the latex of a bursting balloon.
They took away the pain far too soon.

They'll call, they'll call, they'll call.
Write books and poetisize my fall.
Sign sonnets, and put their heads into fire.
Drive nail into skin for lack of own desires.

For peace, for piece, for piece.
Wreck the curtains in my grief.
Gnawing at my insides like a carcass within,
I'm part of the problem, I'm part of my sin.

Daddy, daddy, please leave.
If you don't, then who will grieve?
I'm faithless on a hillock, burning stalk after stalk.
Letting ashes fill the silence, talk after empty talk.