~xxdream

Lori Blair

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Torn Stockings 2Grey signals the smokescreen Dawning -the fragile warmth of Time caught between a day
not Yet begun to blossom And this, our evening , Lingering
Beyond decency.
“Write your number.” Another word From him and I swear, “darkness“, While looking down his list of
Conquests -   I refuse. For the first time
Since I spread wide-open For Him, He Looks interested.
Helpless, I sign, committing My name, in ink, scrawling Another feminine sin onto his book of erasable girls. He turns away Walks away, &n Torn Stockings 2
by ~xxdream

Playing My Part -PerfectlyThe fat lady roars out Her taffeta song
Piercing my heart With her sharp
Stilleto. Her god needs A sacrifice and I wore a Red Dress. It’s my blood staining Becoming
A carpet to Cushion staged Gospel. But, that’s okay I’m an exhibitionist With plans too kneel and bow My head To lose it. To lose
It. To lose everything. Selfish, diva, fate, Her blade’s denied to me- Like me. Robbing me of my
Moment, she took My glory
Until nothing fell But parasitic silence Playing My Part -Perfectly
by ~xxdream

Torn StockingsGrey Signals the moment of Dawning with the fragile Warmth of time caught In between a day not Yet begun to blossom And an evening
Lingering beyond Decency.
“Write your number.”Another
Command from him; I look down the list of conquests And refuse. For the first Time since I spread for Him He Looks interested.
The residue clings, I Can’t take the pressure
Of his eyes. I sign My name in ink Documenting My sin In his book Unerasable. He turns away Walks away Whistling Torn Stockings
by ~xxdream

Wrought IronHe
Kills me When he fucks me Now Strong hands tighten around my throat So he can see my face wince Or me, Cruelly pressed, vulnerable and open One hand of his splayed Against my lower back The other squeezing. I dream on True Love,I see his eyes While gasping for breath, scared He hates That he loves me. He loves me. He loves me
Madly.
Wants to kill me. And, I want to feel Raw Pure Pain Anything Other
\"You\'re so fucking good\" kissing words over the curve of my hip Wrought Iron
by ~xxdream

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How Gracefully You Lie...

Thu Aug 14, 2003, 5:49 AM

God. I swear everywhere I go I feel the need to mention that my work posted here isn't in final form, I keep the final drafts private as I do submit them. And, to say that the stuff I write isn't real. It just isn't me, it comes from me and is shaded by my thoughts but I don't write autobiographical in the literal sense.

Glad I got that out kiss,

XX

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Devious Info

Current Residence: Ontario, Canada.
Interests: writing, acting, photography
Favourite movie: Almost Famous, True Romance, The Crow
Favourite band or musician: Tori Amos, Nirvana, Bowie, The Hip
Favourite genre of music: alternative
Favourite poet or writer: Tennessee Williams

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Comments

`tangledweb

Jun 13, 2003, 3:40:04 PM

Just read your comment to my latest photo... Hug

Thank you, your comment was better than the photograph. LOL

Take care, you. :) (Smile)

`tangledweb

Jun 13, 2003, 3:24:45 PM

Hey there Lori, thank you for the comment, I appreciate it. :) (Smile)

~chameleon-dream

Jun 13, 2003, 7:21:02 AM

fuck! *blinks at the name*.. Miss Princess Lori Ma'am!

*squeals and scampers* I didn't know it was you! *hugs and hugs and hugs*

all your own Southern Bella
Bear

--
when it all comes down it.. I'd rather be the static between channels

Good writers don't have trash cans, just recycle bins

~chameleon-dream

Jun 13, 2003, 7:19:45 AM

thank you for your comment on in search of home.

Bear

--
when it all comes down it.. I'd rather be the static between channels

Good writers don't have trash cans, just recycle bins

~xxdream

Apr 17, 2003, 6:52:49 PM

I think I'm a comment whore.

~epimetheus

Apr 16, 2003, 11:44:39 PM

Right, so, coherence.

I'd considered leaving the 'he thinks's alone, but didn't want to. I'd just written a poem with similar lines in the first stanza and wanted something less repetitive, more natural. It didn't work wel since I still see this poem in sections, but the bodies of the stanzas seem to stand so well that their poor introductions didn't undo them terribly.

As for the listening, the poem's about a captain who, in an unfounded anecdote, hangs a member of his crew that tells him the ship is going in the wrong direction (hence the swinging in stanza two), but I left the final lines purposely vague. It was more that the captain wasn't in a position where he could listen. The strict Naval regulations at the time would have in some ways (had the anecdote not been apocryphal) forced the captain to hang the sailor even if personally he'd been willing to listen. So the final lines of the poem kinda mean that slavation doesn't come from outside sources, but inside ones, on a more universal level, to get righ to the point.

Thanks for reading and commenting.

Adam

--
www.strangejournal.com