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Writing at odd times

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Bluelight Crew
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Jun 10, 2017
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Äldreomsorgen i Övre Kågedalen
Ms. Moprhine
(written during withdrawal)
There's a corrossive, gritty, grimy, raw beauty in this affliction
This all-consuming love is filled with horror transgressing fiction
A fragile fucked-up romance, she comes undone, no demands
But she'll tear me into shreds, and will do so with my own hands
Piece by piece comes off me, like a love-letter in the rain
No earthly problem matters when I have her crawlin' in my veins
First she gave me a crown, and one day I realized it's a leash
Yet I'll lie, beg, borrow, steal, I'd kill to keep her pleased
Six years down the gutter and everyone I loved is long gone
Ms. Morphine numbs me as I convince myself nothing's wron


Oh, mama
(written for my band after 4 days awake)
Mama loves her Percocets,
her Xanax, wine & cigarettes
Mama caught dad in their bed,
with a trick, spun off his head
Mama got her .44, six hits of lead,
watching in the doorway while they bled
Four weeks on the run,
mama keeps staying higher than the sun
We do dirty things for a ride,
mama's wanted, they say double homicide
Lot Lizards and Scooby snax,
mobile homes, euro-trash
The Lizards shards give me wings,
when I fly life no longer stings
Behind closed eyes it all incinerates,
my memories, my sorrow and the hate
Raspy junky-voice, eyes gone wild,
mama screaming at the walls lost in time
Mama's looped on dust, reciting prophecies on repeat
Mama shows me how to cock, aim and squeeze
One night I ignore the .44 and I grab my Kukri-knife
Mama smiling when I coming and tell her it's allright,
I watch the blade shimmerin', my hands tremblin' as I slice

Oh, mama,
I was born a son but you made me a beast
I couldn't make you happy, proud or pleased
Oh, mama
A shadow made it's place inside
there is nowhere left for me to hide

Oh, mama
 
pulverstaden said:
Thank you... I guess?
Crisis doesn't even begin to cover the havoc I'm dancing around.

Your a good person. I like that you comment almost everything and give critique or praise.
Thank you for taking the time to read. I have a few more I might share her.
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I often write in my most stressful moments, usually high or drunk, and it's definitely a release for me.

I have also danced around death, madness, the devil.... my life has been all over the place including homeless on the street corner.

I liked your words/song.

People here inspire me to write more. It's therapeutic.
 
SnafuInTheVoid said:
I often write in my most stressful moments, usually high or drunk, and it's definitely a release for me.

I have also danced around death, madness, the devil.... my life has been all over the place including homeless on the street corner.

I liked your words/song.

People here inspire me to write more. It's therapeutic.
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Same here. I can only write at night. When I'm in periods where I just can't get the fucking words on paper, I feel like shit.
Writing is my SSRI, my Valium. I'd kill myself if I lost the ability to write. It's nice writing shit in english; english is a fantastic language, is so intricate and beautiful. It's amazing when you try to describe a feelin, a state of mind. Swedish doesn't have the same flow. It's mechanical.

Wow. I've been homeless, but that has ben for a few days. I've been on the street corner though, for diferent reasons.

Thank you man. I need to spend more time at BL and here. That's my new years resolution.

And take care.
 
Mysterier said:
Well-written pieces. The way our pain can be translated into art never stops short of amazing to me.
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Thank you.
Yeah man, I know. Finding a song, a poem, a paragraph or a painting that hits you harder than a .44; it's better than sex, better than heroin.
I feel less alone when I read books or poems that resonates with me. It's like falling in love. I have books where I have marked certain sections and sometimes I pick one of them up and read. And I get that feelin'. Someone, somewhere is writing down my thoughts, with the words I never had. A love that can never be tainted, because it can't ever fully bloom. That might sound a bit weird.
Well, imperfection is beautiful.

Again, thank you.
 
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