Pellinore's boring writings

Howling darkness

Dark is the night,
forgotten, the last light,
in the cruel cold i stand,
a smoldering cigarette,
burning dead in my hand.
gazing upon the darkness,
where angry clouds,
vanish the stars,
covering my heart,
in obscene,
silence.

 

Strange walking faces,
in stranger town,
paranoia caught souls,
captured by the evil device,
of stranger town,
the innocent souls,
bloodied by their entangled minds,
dark clouds hide stranger town,
as screams arise above,
the empty buildings,
empty minds,
strange faces,
farewell,
forgotten place.

 

Reflecting mirror,

staring in the glass,
staring back,
from the glass,
who is that?
glassman?
why are you in the glass?
silent is the glass,
as the reflection dissappears,
and my mind goes numb,
vanishing the last thoughts,
about life and death,
in a state,
of braindead wandering,
in a maze of deep fog,
confused,
lost,
what?

 

Lets rush into the open,
grasslands,
surrounded by blossoming trees,
lets run free,
from this four wall imprisonment,
lets reach for the shining sun,
and burn as we fly towards our end,
let our souls break out,
forget our broken lives,
our earthly worries,
that keep us awake,
for countless nights,
our memories,
that haunt our deepest of nightmares,
lets laugh like children,
at the face of freedom,
and take a ride,
never to return,
one last time.

 

Overload

As i lock the door behind me,
and the water runs out the shower,
glancing at all the medication,
chaoticly stored in the white closet,
one, two, three, four, five..
as the pills intoxicate,
me.
as the water runs down,
my heart beats the euphoric song,
turning my mind in overdrive,
blasting all the sorrow,
that remained locked,
deep inside.

far away resonates,
a single cry,
am i dying?

what is this?
dark, disturbing feeling.

Who is this?
fool.

forgive me,
I'm the fool.

the song becomes sad,
and darkness spreads,
infects my veins,
lets be gone.

 

just a quick comment, everything besides the first poem is just a flow of words written down, i did no effort to make a nice poem out of it, just wanted to print down my feelings as i felt them at the moment itself without giving it much thought. hope it doesn't comes fort too cheesy and all, critics would be very welcome!

ps: i'm still often struggling with finding words, as english is not my first language, also the reason my poems lack the complexity of others, but i'm trying my best to catch feelings and athmospheres and turn them into text.

 

I prefer the ones where you're just writing you're thoughts down. They're more expressive because you're not trying to fit any mould.
I think for the most part you've managed to achieve a balance, in that what you're writing is still quite cryptic and personal to you in the way that only you can see your own thoughts, but at the same times there's a sort of accessibility and relatable quality that make them interesting for readers.
In short, you done good.

 

alright, thank you for your feedback. I'll try to keep writing here, and perhaps improve myself.

 

i love poems in the thought-free style you've used. that's how i often write myself. it's a sort of surrealist poetry - an unrestrained free-flowing run of immediate thoughts, born directly from the subconscious ; the deepest emotional bank known to humanity.

keep up the good work.

 

two birds fly past the window,
a raven,
and some other bird,
a dark cloud hovers,
slowly, surrounded,
by the golden sunset,
numb minded,
tripping,
with sunglasses,
watching the sun,
going down,
as voices resonate,
and darkness becomes eternal.

 

Lets write a poem,

hate and destruction,
Sick and tired,
down and kicking high,
hell no,
I'm done with society,
let them destroy,
minds and make a final scream,
i'm out.
No education for me,
don't give about a damn paper,
resemblence of illusionairy knowledge,
damn fool.
condemn me to a life on the street,
where no-one gives, about a flowing tear.
that homeless loser,
crawling under his last heroine shot.
lets die proud,
in the bright light,
of exploding veins.
fuck this world,
no-one gives a damn.

 

Euphoric memory loss

Smiling under,
a drug fueled mind,
no concerns about,
a shattered past,
its all gone!
gone as the shining sun,
no more light rays,
in my darkened room,
the blood in my veins,
peering trough,
with sickened eyes,
and a tattered brain,
forget the sorrow,
lets dance,
in the savage rain.
and die,
crying of pain.

 

Worn out,
a poisoned body,
a sickened mind,
outside the landscape blooms,
and children laugh,
innocent under the sun,
while the wolves howl,
in my nightmares,
and screams of the past,
break me apart,
let it stop!
those hauntings thoughts,
memories,
let it stop,
the futility,
meaningless living,
in a trashed world,
lets travel,
to a world beyond,
tonight,
and touch the light.

 

you have a very dark quality. a common subscription in poetry. though not original you do, however, contend.

psychologist would nut over these works.

deep reflection in these. you are brave.

 

, not so easy tho, its like exploring a dark side of myself while writing this, or embracing it, but its fun at times to write down some stuff here, as long as it doesn't gets me all sucked in to this obscurity. got in fucked up depressions before (or a state of insanity, whatever), trying to avoid that for now. know that my work isn't really good or anything, but just going to stay myself, and keep writing here now and then.

 

the sad face of london

as a sick tourist,
i wandered in the filth,
of a burning city,
i saw the rich,
in monkey costumes,
the heroine addict,
on the sidestep,
with a sleeping bag,
the homeless musician,
with a broken guitar,
the world is burning down,
first the cities,
the people,
then our souls,
we all die,
under greed and murder,
blackened our hearts,
bright our smile,
untouched by the cries,
we walk the path of doom,
hand in hand with the devil,
we regret nothing,
only our fake smile,
brings sorrow,
while we ponder in our empty beds,
in the mids of the night.

//just got back from london, a sad city..just as every big european city.

 

p.lore, what city were you imagining when writing this piece.

instantly i thought of an american city, but with european textures.

 

^points at the title of the poem

its london, just got back from there, went to visit it for a few days, but was actually a very depressing experience.

 

yeah, i know london. but i guess i thought maybe you werent thinking of it...idk.

 

As an official representative of the City of London, we would like to formally apologize for disappointing you, but also take this opportunity to remind you that all British people are innately miserable bastards and all British things are innately boring and disappointing in some way.