A Matter Of Time Pt. 2

Now be reasonable what was a young man ment to do?
Everyone’s femurs where getting cracked in the crossfire
It’s better one man gets broken completely then that
So I treat you like an ulcer before band practice
I took every single bullet with pride
Until I’m a corpse floating in the river to you
Did you fall for it hook, line and sinker?
Or did you see through it like a silk?

I send this reasoning in little scrolls
Drop them in the handbags of your social circle
And maybe one day it’ll come around your way
Like the back page of a crossword book
I hope it gives you all the answers your looking for
Now here’s the question that keeps up all night
Will you react with a sense of relief, the lights have gone green
Will you spit on the paper, the lights have been smashed

I know there’s probably nothing I can do
To stop the filthy glares at the bus stop
And the way you cast your rod in everyone’s pond
Just to get the hint of a nibble on the hook
I imagine your eyes light up at the thought
Of being able to bring me up in conversation again
Are you trying to drop the same scrolls to get my attention?
Or are trying to burn the soil so nothing can grow again?

You like to deny but either way, you really are like me dear

*Written For National Poetry Month – 21/30*

This poem is a sequel too this one:
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/82818526063/a-matter-of-time

A Matter Of Time

It always conducts a glissando up my spine
When I spot your clan tracking at my sanctuaries
I don’t claim to have the deeds to these locals, but surely you know?
I wouldn’t leave these premises just for your consideration?
Are they scouts? Sniffing for my co-ordinates?
Are you hiding in smokers planning your tactics
Using the finished cocktail glasses
As chess pieces like a military tactician

Are you under the impression I’m still enamoured with you?
I’m not saying the hypothesis isn’t true
It’s just when you find yourself stuck to me like glue
I wonder, what exactly are you planning to do?

Each heckle the dogs give me on the street,
Each Chinese whisper forcefully relayed to me
Each WooWoo beaker thrown at my head
Feels like the tick of the clock
I don’t think I could call in sick for this appointment
Not even if I wanted to
I can imagine you coming up to me at the bar now
With a familiar smile, and a view to kill

Are you under the impression I still think of you all day?
If you don’t mind I’ll keep the answer to that one at bay
But when you do decide for us to meet in your little play
I wonder, what exactly were you gonna say?

This Poem Has a squeal:
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/83517596383/a-matter-of-time-pt-2

*Written For National Poetry Month – 13/30*

Combat

Pestilence incarnate cries at her loudest
Captivating the attention of the lucky young males
In droves they come throwing away their free wills for a taste

‘Droves’ being a stretch at best

And of course she’s had the worst pampering of life
Her paper thin troubles will net you a eternity of goose chasing
The Chupacabra you can never catch, the Bigfoot you can never prove was even there

If not a hearbreak in similes
What else is she ‘sposed to post for her followers?

She slams onto to the catwalk
Avert your eyes, cameras, guns, blades away from it
Even wounds feeds it’s insatiable hunger
After all a target needs to be aimed at

But a funny thing happened one morn
A million followers started to thin, picked apart one by one
The icon of a generation started to clear into a symbol of self indulgence

Who could’ve been so cruel?

It was me who picked the flowers in your garden
The one who gave man his tounge and made the blind see again
It’s not hard to bring the starstrucked back to the land of independant thought

The method is private i’m afraid

And to add salt to the wound
I did it with my hands tied behind my back
I hope you think of me when you chronicle your demise to the masses

‘The defective who took down perfection herself’