Miss Asphyxia (trypanophobic34) wrote in poet_society,
Miss Asphyxia

Happy Almost-Halloween

Wrote this last night. It pretty much follows the style of "Harlequin Baby." Again, it deals with a strange creation and the narrator's feelings about it, but the Scarecrow is an actual product of the narrator's mind, whereas the Harlequin girl was more like an unnatural, random product of nature, though both essentially serve the same purpose for the narrator. It also has a similar, rather unorganized verse structure (not that I ever organize them, really). I worked the themes of "dirt," "drops/ravines," and "New/Old Tomorrow" into it, for some reason. I'm not sure I like it very much.

So long, Scarecrow
You don’t feel real anymore
Though I suppose I’ve always known
But what’s known is not always best

My dearest creation
I ground my juiciest, most rotten parts into you
The feelings like shadows hovering on the edges
Of ravines
Which, once thereinto fallen, would lead me to secrets
And thoughts on the verge of coherent nascence

Unconsciously I stitched you into existence
The soiled fabric, the crooked smile
Crying at a crooked world
My beauty, my love
The tears of my feeling
The mournful elation, the elevation
Above a drop of bone loss – oh

Found you one day
Propped in the corner
Not so surprising, hardly unexpected
Hardly stopped to remark, ponder, or question
But those niggling thoughts will always
Find a way
Fall up through the dirt and – oh

You revel in glory
Laugh at my chaos
The stories I weave
Just to make your incessant laugh
You sit on a throne
Wreathed by corbeaux
Wretched and hollow
Your eyes the old tomorrow

And I roll in agony
Cringe and quiver
Mind convulsing like madmen’s lives
So pained I might have eaten gray fever
Bury my head in search of New Tomorrow
Claw at nothing, just the same as anything

I happened to find you in the corner that day
Propped like a soft-bodied figure on Halloween display
Since then I’ve never perceived you the same way
And day by day, your appearance alters
I suppose it doesn’t lessen, only peels away

My dearest creation,

But your face is melting
The eyes are buttons
Not quite so mocking
You’re becoming stiff and I can see –

Yeah, I don’t think you’re real
Yeah, I think you’re an illusion
That poorly mimics these kinds of things
We imitate by calling humans

My cherished dream
Wedded to sighs and difficulty
My eyes once brimmed at the sight of
Your dark pools
Overflowing with pathos and apathy

But your body is crisping
Your hair is brittle
The fingers have grown too long
Like a bugbear, you’re leering
My dear, I suppose you’ve always known
You’re a blurred sketch of darkness
An angry child’s prized asset
And I’ve kept you far too long

The clothing is crawling, oozing into the corners
You’re stretching, not unfurling
Blurring and, at the edges, hurrying
Stitched mouth is too wide,
Fingers are blackened
And your face is so sad as it drips down
From where it used to hide

So long, Scarecrow
I think I’ll dive into the ground
In search of tomorrow, newly found
I think I’ll drink the ocean
Eat my kidneys when they drown

So long, Scarecrow
And where have all the crows gone?
So long Scarecrow
And where have all my crows gone?
So long

And in case you didn't know, corbeaux=crows.

You might have noticed a strange connection between scarecrows and me by now.

I wish I could say that... "So long, Scarecrow."
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