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Honey pot
Carnal lust, encourages us, to thrust out with disregard
Slam dunking into the honey pot,
Looking sideways at the opposition,
Body dysmorphia, sunrising from us.
We strive to win the race, often with appalling taste
we garishly paint ourselves, mutilate and torture
To be another diva disco chick, that men will want to desecrate.
We are the hang men at our own brutal slaughter
Left in time,just another sad lonely face
remembering when she was the pinnacle
the arbitrator, the muse
Now left broken and bitter, like a broken abandoned shoe.
So suddenly the flies replace the bees
circling around yesterdays honey pot.
I love this. It reads like a rant. This is powerful with a great flow. I love the lines, We are the hang men at our own brutal slaughter and the flies replace the bees
circling around yesterdays honey pot
Awesome poem (sorry for the painful inspiration).
I hope your days are much cheerier,
Paul
When I first read this, I was drawn deeply into the way in which it comes across. Beauty as the guage of life, and that beauty being the surface always struck me as shallow.
But you have seen into it with your magnificent sense of understanding.
I did comment in depth in another place on this, yet I find it to be an amazing condemnation of life trivial pursuits, when the truest of beauty lies right before the eyes.
I will never tire of reading your works. You add a color to life, that is not often displayed.
I have missed you recently. It is good to see you have returned. Tim