(Untitled)

[satan_laughs]

The cracks that remain
and the memories they stain
spread across the brain
like hands gone insane

Filling its spaces
with the dark's many faces
Leaving the suffered traces
of the void's sacred places

Fire your gun deep
into the void's tangled heap
and the horrors that you keep
will forever sleep

Comments

[anacolutha]

very deep and black but it's sad because there is so many more good things in the speaker that are being kept down and silenced.

[lamia_slumbers]

dark and evocative.
i am curious to know what prompted you to write and how writing it made you feel (if the answer is "none of your business" i won't be offended).

[satan_laughs]

Wish i had an interesting anecdote about it, but I just woke up one morning with it in my head. I was embarrassed by it at first, cause I thought it was corny. I'm still not sure...

[lamia_slumbers]

Corny? Well unless you're trying to win the Bollingen Prize for poetry, then it wouldn't matter if it were corny or not. Long as it means enough to you to keep it that's the whole the point.
I think we can learn as much from what we write (especially in our most unguarded moments) as we can from what we say and feel. Little bits of ourselves come out for analysis even in our "corny" attempts at art.
Jeez but I do go on and on. I'll shut up now.
Glad you shared the poem.

[lamia_slumbers]

I guess you're not supposed to worry about being corny or silly. I'm a bit of a perfectionist, though, and I'm... cautious about being pretentious. I have a brother who fashions himself an author/film maker. You've never seen anything as pretentious in your life as some of his stuff. Believe me. I'm almost tempted to post a draft of his "memoirs," but I wouldn't subject you to that...