Coming in second is the same as coming in last
It hurts just as much, but it still makes me laugh
At how quickly the twine lines of my sanity burn away
To take me into the ink of my thoughts, my lips betray
A smile that barely hides the voices of my mind mingling
With the twisted guts inside, and it leaves me tingling.
Is there no way to say exactly how deep I cut the pain?
Spelling it out gets me nowhere, and know where I've been bent?
Drifting in the brine of a sorrow like tar, simply spent
Too tired to swim, my back stroke is pretty weak
Since my arms are broken, torn at the seams
Here, have my heart, take these dreams
I'm tired of waking to a silent scream choking me
If the day is gray it fits like a glove
Why paint it the colors of love?
Lately, my feet are finding their way
No longer tripping over the bliss of a new day
This is how I know, this is how the wind steals my breath
And carries my soul to the stars, if we digress
Can we go back to passion as hot as the Sun?
Rake my flesh until bones expose, written in blood.
Coming in last still counts for something
Could it be my imagination is a sentry?
Guarding me from reality?
This was supposed to be me taking the lead
But once the barbs catch they never come free
Gouging my palms on the thorns of my reliable complacency
I never knew suffering could be quite so tempting
Coming in second is how I remind myself to keep it pinned
It's why no one is every truly within
Coming in second is the only way to win
Art. Music. Or. Bust.
Age 39, Female
Writer/Artist
Colorado Technical University
Illinois
Joined on 7/24/13
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Run Her Up
Posted by ttbloodlusttt - March 19th, 2016
Comments
The eclipse analogy works on so many levels, as does emotional purification, I guess I've lived with my own emotional problems for so long, I've gotten used to the stink.
I certainly hope love and justice will see you through these dark times, especially today, Easter and all.
I hope that you are less lonely knowing I come here to exchange words with you. Thank you for the thoughts.
Hm, internet correspondence is like vegetarian food; there's variety, but little protein. Still, that doesn't make it any less valid. After 2 decades of being on this thing, I realize that some people -need- to talk, to get through tough patches in their lives, sometimes I do as well.
You get any good after-Easter candy on sale? I didn't, brakes on my truck are leaking, and I'm still waiting for the mechanic's schedule to clear :p
I don't mind talking, though it's easy for me to fall off the grid most of the time. It's that distance that eventually makes me appreciate the connections I destroyed to achieve complete quiet.
No Easter candy sales but I have a lot of leftover candy from my sister. I don't know why she would give me a bag full of candy when she's diabetic and also knows I need to lose a few lbs. At least she thought of me.
Break leak sounds dangerous @_@ I hope you get that fixed soon. After 10 years of not driving, I finally got a car a little over a month ago. It's weird and I'm paranoid. I grip the steering wheel so hard that my hands get stiff and hurt. I either speed or drive under the speed limit. I'm horrible.
*sigh* At least I'm not limited to where my legs can take me and maybe I'll find a new job with better hours. My current work hours are opposite of everyone I care about, so it's adding momentum to my insidious depression.
I hear ya, it's just a shame the grid knows more about us than our friends and family do.
I'm still gripping for life, especially on highways, local jaunts aren't so bad, so long as you treat every intersection like an accident waiting to happen. Maybe that's why I do so well at car games online, it really is life or death on the asphalt.
Anyone that works 2nd and 3rd shifts, gets bonus points from me, lack of sunlight and preferred human contact really blows.
VicariousE
Do you edit these? This is another powerful poem, quite enjoyable, though while I read it, I kept expecting different key words to pop up, I initially felt misdirected. I guess poems don't have to point out particulars, or give the reader any specifics. Doesn't matter, it really reads like an older, wiser person wrote this.
Skype still bothers me somehow, other than the fact they archive everything communicated there (can't simply delete your account, they'll still have it). Wow, didn't know you had audio submissions here O_O
Regarding your son, I'm stumped as to what you can do, that you likely haven't done already. There must be some legal advocacy out there, either through a government side-agency or non-profit. Mothers are usually given a wider latitude with custody, though some states are different :p
ttbloodlusttt
Much of the poetry I submit ends up on Facebook or Deviantart. Sometimes I write something that really expresses and sums up the mood of my life at the current time. This is one of those poems. Spawned from anguish, intrigue, and resignation. I don't really edit my poems other than fixing misspelled words or rearranging one line so it flows better. Most of the time I leave it since it was spawned from a moment of clarity.
It's like trying to see the eclipse and you have to make that thing out of foil so you don't hurt your eyes... I'm constantly trying to line up the holes to glimpse the putrid resting place of my emotions so my thoughts can attempt to put words to something that exists without words.
Atm I am hard presses to be upset over anything that's archived conversationally since I might have to refer to it in court in the future. Could be my only saving grace. This struggle is unfortunately across country borders, I must proceed cautiously.
Lovely to hear from you.