Published November 4, 2011
A fevered dream, a rapid hope.
A moonbeam through a telescope,
So fragile now it comes and goes.
I'll keep my staggering, drunken throes.
A string of words, a simple sin
narrated from the bottle-bin.
I'll lie in stupor, the memories flash.
Quite blown away, a cloud of ash.
A gossip prates "Oh how obscene!"
I'll keep my drags of nicotine.
"That stupid bitch" the half hearts moan.
"I need someone to call my own!" they'll cry.
But soundless nods, my only gift to offer.
I'll keep my steady silent drift.
"You're way too funny, too slick to think,
about pounding mattress springs!"
My reply...
"Stick around, pass me a drink.
I'll show you how sad Jesters sing..."
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140,522 Literary Works • 673,294 Reviews
Thankyou for your positive comments! I didn't really think it would go down so well ^^. I'll try to keep them comming!
There's seriously been some awesome writing on this site lately. This was definitely not an exception to it. This was really, really cool. Grr, I hate short and pointless comments rather than legitimate reviews, but I just can't find anything to complain about. This was air-tight grammar-wise, and the same goes for composition and general theme. So, with that, here's my lame comment. Simply telling you how much I liked this.
Keep writing,
StoryWeaver
that is so cool I love this it's the best it makes me cheerful and happy keep this up