As the British might say, "have a read". It's hardly finished and needs lots of work still, but, I do enjoy it enough as it is to share it. Some things just inspire me, but if your inspiration is a documentary on a serial killer, do not expect me to write a poem about pretty fall leaves and the nobility of the human race.
Into the woods, and away we go,
Into the darkest part of Skid Row.
I flee with you, my untrustworthy friend
Knowing you’ll guide me unto my end.
An end of existing in constant pain, though I suppose
You’re not leading me to fountains of bliss or fields of Elysium
Nor even to halls of Valhalla’s great Victors.
But Hel’s realm of horror of unending woes
Of waking each morning to a new vicious vector
Where nightmares are real and reality seems
A far distant fantasy of minor defeats, of melancholy and madness
And maybe some sweet
Bitter memory some gut wrenching knowledge of how things might have been.
But for now, I flee with you friend, I flee for the fleeing, the flight away
From all that defies me this middle of day.
Lead me, I beg you, to the house on the street
Where angels and demons are wont to meet
Where I might just as well be one of the victims
As one of the victors and ever so gladly partake of the nectars
Of forbidden fruits and of follies and vices
Of please make me forget all of my nicest
Laces and linens.
And don’t you think
I fit ever so well on this street of hell-bent
Heaven in Hell?
On with you I glide, ignoring the signs of ignominy
And depravity, of vicious beyond my wildest imagining.
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