So should I pretend:
Shall we just play clowns,
Paint our faces red,
Smiles just made up frowns?
Swallow what you sell:
This forced smile I see,
An existential,
Pompous piety?
In any weather:
Wave my arms in time,
Hands tied together,
Matter over mind?
Dangle from the sky:
Chilly dungeon chains,
Laugh like getting by,
Red-shifting the pain?
In the laugh forget:
Man dressed as boy?
This just leaves regret,
My life lost in joy.
I can't just believe:
This what I've never seen,
Smiling faith is not me,
Only sadness is real.
I know you fake it sweetie:
Lying is when your lips lift.
About Me.
- Owen
- Chelmsford, Essex, United Kingdom
- 27. Student. Scientist. Musicist. Writerist. Pretentious dickhead. (Probably)
2 comments:
I love this.
'Swallow what you sell:
This forced smile I see,
An existential,
Pompous piety?'
That's amazing.Was this written in over a gin and tonic ain a dimly light corner of a bar?
If not can you just say it is?
You know in the memoirs.
:)
xx
Haha. Im afraid to say no it wasnt - whiskey is my poison of choice.
The rest though, bars and the like, I can neither confirm nor deny! :P
Thanks a lot love, what you said means A LOT to me. :)
xx
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