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Dark City Song

Half Confession, Half Exaggerated Nonsense

By Word SmythPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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Streetlight lullabies,

Curbside infatuation,

Manifest lies,

Murder scene manifesto,

Cold steel and the damp pavement,

Witness this lament,

Another drunken revelry,

Turned implosive situation,

A moment dragged into an infinity of seconds,

All tied to a finite ending,

Yet one more serenade for a gutter slut,

Spiritual degradation as a form of martyrdom,

But tell me,

Where do YOUR saints come from,

Mine generate via suicide,

I worship all things wronged by gravity,

Fallen idols,

Fallen stars,

Fading memories of a time when life used to be,

Vibrant and bright,

But I traded opiates for the light

And now I light my candles,

To cook blackened spoons,

Sitting in this piss soaked alley,

Moaning love songs to the moon.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Word Smyth

I like to write. I never know where words will take me, or what discoveries I will make along the way. I've never shared my writing, it's very personal. Well, here is where I take the leap.

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