Please login or signup to add a comment to this paragraph.


Add comment   Close
Jordan Newman Jordan Newman
Recommendations: 15

it's nothing new, it's the same old tale; a boy scared of love all to hell.


Share this writing


Link to this writing



Start Writing

More from Jordan Newman

i see angels above me, i see demons below me, fighting over heaven.
i loved her more when i was sober.
i don't want a second chance.
love starts with that of a flickerin' cigarette
i swear i could feel your love before i knew your name.

More Poetry

Deborah Boydston Deborah Boydston
Recommendations: 45
Murder in the Senseless
Leoni Carlson Leoni Carlson
Recommendations: 12
Expressivity
Aaron Greene Aaron Greene
Recommendations: 30
Author's Clog
Leonard a. Wronke Leonard a. Wronke
Recommendations: 23
JUST BECAUSE
Kitchera Hicks Kitchera Hicks
Recommendations: 11
soul mates

totally steers off topic, or at least it could be interperted that way. i have a sense that the ancetodes and analogies/metaphors remain on cue to the entire metaphor/morality that the first few verses express... however i def don't look upon this as a structured vignette, and i apologize. i'm tired and i suppose i have become quite rusty at writing free-stylely. or i'm losing my touch all together to free-style in a frustratatingly imposing world that i can only write within catacombs of my silent room. the horror i may become silent, is the greatest fear i constantly face.


for that/thesei do apologize, dear readers.


A Vignette? That I Am Not.Cursed To Suffer?Ain't That The Truth


The brighter the days, the worse off i tend to feel
as if the sunshine was a man who loved people,
people to torture with a cruelty so unreal, it's near
impossible to fathom, by far worse than any novel.


when its high noon i'm usually at my lowest low
but that and the suns position is not simpatico,
at least i do not think that that is the only answer.
there is something inside of me, something sinister.


until twilight is king, i lay still in the dark due to how
a blanket acts like an invisibility cloak over my window,
well at least it makes the light opaque in my rooms view.
consciousness is something i slip in & out of all long day.


My heart has been broken more than once and i made a vow
to never again feel that pain, yet over & over i make a discovery
that these words to will be made only to be broken; fore a lady
comes in to my world, only to smash it to pieces on that day
which is bound to come- when i hear her or not say good-bye.


now i'm freezing in the middle of july as if heroin is calling for me
but i'm stuck to my bedside frame with nothing except perhaps, maybe
five dollars in my wallet and a million and a half within my arm, my baby.
if you could see how pale i am now you'd be sick, i swear, you'd cry;
because the scars i've rec'd since i last seen you are pricks quite tiny.
All across my body exists dots, as if a depressed cartographer, hazy
off the booze and full of some sort of hate because all marks are in a fury.


I take a cue from this fictional character, i drink cups of warm whiskey
as if I'm a 1950s cliche for rebel without a clue, a man on a path destiny
has made; and it's cursed to be fast, violent, lustful-a plot drafted simply
to entertain the gods of mischief and misery, is the only reason as to why
i exist! fore, 'the world is but a stage, the world is nothing if not a play.'


as a character made up of wonderful days and terrible hours filled with misery
so surreal it seems nearly exaggerated; because no man could bare mortality
if these are the only extremes he experiences, no matter how hard he may try.
For even my greatest triumphs feel no better than the failure I know the day
will bring; and if my diary proves anything, it simply shows evidence to the theory
of my life long thesis piece: "Life, and the Mistakes It Makes," but I suffer from insanity.


Or at least that's what Webster defines me as, for I continue on repeating something
all in hopes that a different response will somehow come forth; yes, i practice this even
though I am more than aware I do it, but its not with everything I practice this upon.
That's why I find myself confused due to seeing the circular pattern we all fall down
like some metaphorical spiral; and only some can see the simplicity in the 'Divine Plan.'


While we're all told we shall die one day; and this is never more obvious of not being true
when one is in love, because then death of one another becomes a subconscious new fear.
We may all, 'know,' mortality isn't for eternity, I tend to sense that only few are truly aware!
Which is that these souls express a bitterness so raw it is obvious they were kind before,
way back when they could still hope for a better humanity, a world that loves thy neighbour.


Then time moves in expressing its existence in the most subtle of coincidences that reality
becomes a physical thing that will eventual accumulate to a weight that easily gets heavy;
maybe even heavier, fore sin carries a price one does not see! This is quite a tragedy.
Well, for most, they won't notice until the bell doth chimes for them to rest for eternity
will this be revealed as no mystery, that eye for an eye results in karma's need for equality;
hence why life is a roller coaster, each day it differs so dramatically it's damn near crazy. 1 comment


------------
pt2
i awake to a new day but i'm fearful of the outcome because so far they've been unfair,
mostly due to yesterday's cruelness that I etched upon the world is catching up to me;
so the worst, I am honestly scared to discover, has yet to come- oh my God, so fearful.
To sit and plot a chart made up of my good and bad choices versus a time length, where
I'll spend eternity is no wonder; and still I do nothing to prevent this demise, I must worry
then, to see what it's all about, why else would I remain here? Plotting the demise of somebody.


Link to this writing

Share this writing


Jordan Newman's website: http://novelled.com/book_overview.php?b_id=55

Next: In My Bedroom