Yep... This One Is A Mind Fuck If You Can Read it all...
Humans are liars.
It is only after your death that they profess how much they would have saved you.
In life, they watch you die,
In fact, they loved watching you high,
In life, they pulled back as you reached out,
In death, they'll say you didn't speak out.
Because...
When you fought to live,
Thrashing your legs trying to gasp for air,
Having meltdowns and pulling at your hair,
They watched, and laughed, and had no fucks to give,
The erratic behavior and the dramatic mood swing -
Was your way of saying "I am so damaged I don't care who sees".
Your last sting was your death, like that of a bee's
But they loved watching you die as it was what made you sing.
LOL! I suck at writing poetry.
But I've got no one to judge in my solitary.
If they didn't perceive that I was giving out my last breath
They won't see my words or my cries at my death.
Humans are liars.
It is only after your death that they profess how much they would have saved you.
Then at the memorial, they'll be competing for the spotlight
Vying to seem as if they were my best friend
Making it about them and not about my last rite
When it should be of how I fought to live that got me this end.
Indulging themselves yet again at my expense...
yeah... :)
I gave up on rhyming,
Fin.
*takes a bow*
If this was my last bit of writing, strangely, I would like to die after enjoying a cigarette. Unfortunately, I don't smoke. In a perfect world, I would print this out, light a cigarette, light the poem on fire, and watch it burn. Then, since the poem is a suicide note of sorts, I would then have either poisoned myself with cyanide, or even better, I would have taken a whole lot of pills with vodka, because vodka and pills are the glamorous, exit strategy of choice.
Do you know why so many promising artists die? They die because they were quitting their "destructive" lifestyles to please you, people! They die of seizures, or from experiencing too much pain from withdrawals. Their lives are so dark at that stage where they have put YOU first before themselves to "save" themselves, and that very attempt to clean themselves up for YOU is why they die. They die for you, you thankless blackholes, who do not appreciate their art enough that you feel you have to ask them for more, by asking them to live according to YOUR desires.
Well, see here...
If being an artist was easy, everyone would do it. If it was easy to carry the burden of such, then yeah, everyone would do it sober, eating vegetables and drinking filtered water like an innocent child. But, unfortunately, to be the way we are, we were broken down, trodden, damaged and diminished to nothing. Then art came and saved us. Our art is what keeps us alive now, and your rules of health and what is right do not apply to us anymore. We are not like you. If we were like you, then you too would be as we are. To each, their own.
You like that we are dark, troubled, melancholy and slightly out of reach, right? Well, that is because we are fucked up. That is why we are so attractive. Fix us and you kill us. That is the truth. That is why they all died, and that is why they will keep on dying. They... We... We die trying to please you, because after you are so attracted to our energy, you refuse to accept that it comes from darkness and ugliness. You refuse to accept that, the brilliance is not of YOUR world. So, you try to change us, and "CLEAN" us, and that's how you kill us.
Like your Messiah, you kill, kill, and kill the light that we shine because it does not operate by your standards. You kill us because you want us to change and be like you. What you must understand is that once art saves us, we are no longer like you. We died a long time ago. Sometimes, even we don't realize that we had died until much later, because we look the same... but we are not the people you once knew. After art saved us, we thrived on the things that kill you.
Amy, She didn't want to go to rehab, hey... She even made a hit out of it. And look what happened when she did go. She died of trying to please you. You would be surprised how simple the life and death of an artist is. The artist lives a very short life as a human and a long life as an artist...
The artist begins as human. Then they die. They get given a second chance of living by being revived by their art. The art is their resurrection into your world again because if art didn't save the artist, then the artist would not have "lived". In the New World, like a vampire, they look the same, but they no longer get sustained by the same things they once did when they were human. I make it sound so awful, but it isn't really. It isn't. Instead, it is true freedom, i.e. the ability to get life from "death". It is not death when it gives us life, though, is it? It is death to you, because it kills you. To us, death is life giving, because we actually died a long time ago.
Inana
It is only after your death that they profess how much they would have saved you.
In life, they watch you die,
In fact, they loved watching you high,
In life, they pulled back as you reached out,
In death, they'll say you didn't speak out.
Because...
When you fought to live,
Thrashing your legs trying to gasp for air,
Having meltdowns and pulling at your hair,
They watched, and laughed, and had no fucks to give,
The erratic behavior and the dramatic mood swing -
Was your way of saying "I am so damaged I don't care who sees".
Your last sting was your death, like that of a bee's
But they loved watching you die as it was what made you sing.
LOL! I suck at writing poetry.
But I've got no one to judge in my solitary.
If they didn't perceive that I was giving out my last breath
They won't see my words or my cries at my death.
Humans are liars.
It is only after your death that they profess how much they would have saved you.
Then at the memorial, they'll be competing for the spotlight
Vying to seem as if they were my best friend
Making it about them and not about my last rite
When it should be of how I fought to live that got me this end.
Indulging themselves yet again at my expense...
yeah... :)
I gave up on rhyming,
Fin.
*takes a bow*
If this was my last bit of writing, strangely, I would like to die after enjoying a cigarette. Unfortunately, I don't smoke. In a perfect world, I would print this out, light a cigarette, light the poem on fire, and watch it burn. Then, since the poem is a suicide note of sorts, I would then have either poisoned myself with cyanide, or even better, I would have taken a whole lot of pills with vodka, because vodka and pills are the glamorous, exit strategy of choice.
Do you know why so many promising artists die? They die because they were quitting their "destructive" lifestyles to please you, people! They die of seizures, or from experiencing too much pain from withdrawals. Their lives are so dark at that stage where they have put YOU first before themselves to "save" themselves, and that very attempt to clean themselves up for YOU is why they die. They die for you, you thankless blackholes, who do not appreciate their art enough that you feel you have to ask them for more, by asking them to live according to YOUR desires.
Well, see here...
If being an artist was easy, everyone would do it. If it was easy to carry the burden of such, then yeah, everyone would do it sober, eating vegetables and drinking filtered water like an innocent child. But, unfortunately, to be the way we are, we were broken down, trodden, damaged and diminished to nothing. Then art came and saved us. Our art is what keeps us alive now, and your rules of health and what is right do not apply to us anymore. We are not like you. If we were like you, then you too would be as we are. To each, their own.
You like that we are dark, troubled, melancholy and slightly out of reach, right? Well, that is because we are fucked up. That is why we are so attractive. Fix us and you kill us. That is the truth. That is why they all died, and that is why they will keep on dying. They... We... We die trying to please you, because after you are so attracted to our energy, you refuse to accept that it comes from darkness and ugliness. You refuse to accept that, the brilliance is not of YOUR world. So, you try to change us, and "CLEAN" us, and that's how you kill us.
Like your Messiah, you kill, kill, and kill the light that we shine because it does not operate by your standards. You kill us because you want us to change and be like you. What you must understand is that once art saves us, we are no longer like you. We died a long time ago. Sometimes, even we don't realize that we had died until much later, because we look the same... but we are not the people you once knew. After art saved us, we thrived on the things that kill you.
Amy, She didn't want to go to rehab, hey... She even made a hit out of it. And look what happened when she did go. She died of trying to please you. You would be surprised how simple the life and death of an artist is. The artist lives a very short life as a human and a long life as an artist...
The artist begins as human. Then they die. They get given a second chance of living by being revived by their art. The art is their resurrection into your world again because if art didn't save the artist, then the artist would not have "lived". In the New World, like a vampire, they look the same, but they no longer get sustained by the same things they once did when they were human. I make it sound so awful, but it isn't really. It isn't. Instead, it is true freedom, i.e. the ability to get life from "death". It is not death when it gives us life, though, is it? It is death to you, because it kills you. To us, death is life giving, because we actually died a long time ago.
Inana
Comments
I have to sit with it a while I think.
Thanks for expanding my mind :)
Manda
See, the poem to me doesn't only apply to artists only but humans as a whole! There are people who will never come to your wedding or graduation ceremony or to celebrate the birth of your first child........but when you die they will buy the best black outfit and a pretty hanky or these days a few packs of kleenex and the will cry a bucket of tears because you were their best friend and have everyone feeling sorry for them meanwhile this person has no idea what your last days were like!
Good writing hun!!