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PARANOIA
| Open Poetry #45 |
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PARANOIA |
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HAZARD Junior Member
since 2009-06-24
Posts 40ENGLAND |
The knives are out – I’m on the rack, nowhere to run. Head fulla pills, I’m a cut-throat blade. Ill whispers fly, sweat burns my eyes, a haunted son. A distant shout – I’m dead tonight, was born to shun. A force inside, I’m in zero shade. The knives are out – I’m on the rack, nowhere to run. The searing doubt – I’m sick with fright, a loaded gun. Heart stopping dread – I’m the devil’s trade. Ill whispers fly, sweat burns my eyes, a haunted son. A life in draught – I’m desert blown, scorched by sun A brief respite, I’m no better made. The knives are out – I’m on the rack, nowhere to run. The fatal bouts – I’m hung each day, skullduggery done. Hell’s Jobe elect – I’m cursed and betrayed. Ill whispers fly, sweat burns my eyes, a haunted son. Me – foul lies clout – I’m reasons whip, pitied for fun. Me – shriven lout – I’m a holy cade. The knives are out – I’m on the rack, nowhere to run. Ill whispers fly, sweat burns my eyes, a haunted son. |
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Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
Interesting write and format. Someone is looking into a cracked mirror! |
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HAZARD Junior Member
since 2009-06-24
Posts 40ENGLAND |
Cheers - It's a slightly different take on the Villanelle - honed a little after balladeer helped set me straight on meter. Not fabulously deep and riveting but a cute second go! H |
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