Second Draft Lyric Assignment
The Story of a Growing Child
~As alcohol ages and bitters so too does joy~
A Sweet Treat
I hold it in my mouth in wonderment,
It is the first ray of sunlight breaking through the night,
A piercingly cold burst of flavour,
Subtle at first and then growing,
Its name itches on the roof of my mouth,
Making my mouth water,
I savour the tingle of excitement,
It slowly melts,
Oozing over my tongue like goo from a slug,
Sliding down my throat,
I ask mum what it is.
I take another small spoonful of the sticky mango gelato.
Catching Some Zzz’s
I stare at the ceiling,
Sitting in the throat of darkness,
My mind is tense and awake as the world sleeps,
I am playing hide ’n’ go seek with rest,
Unable to find where it hides,
I close my eyes,
Looking to power off my brain,
Instead I have opened the world of thought,
Quickly I am loose running down a street of memory,
I find new plants of thought growing.
Hours pass before I return from my vacation,
Exhausted and ready for rest,
I see sleep within reach,
My arm whips out fast and precise,
I catch sleep in my fist and devour it.
Drifting into nothing.
Sensation overwhelms me,
My eyes close without permission,
There is a cathedral in my head,
My back jaw locked open with pillars,
Sound consumes me.
Surrounding me in the most intimate of hugs,
The melody pours out of my head,
Tearing out of my flesh,
Like water gushing over the Niagara Falls,
Spitting up over rocks,
Flowing into each emotion,
Dancing with the thirty other voices who have melded into one,
It ends together, all at once,
The musical flood dissipates as I open my eyes,
My flesh is exhausted,
The magic in me only just beginning to feast,
Is more alive than ever.
My anger is not a fire,
It does not slowly consume.
My temper is an ocean,
It is heavy water locked up like a prisoner in a damn,
Small trickles leak out,
A snarl rises in me,
The damn is broken,
An earthquake awakens a tsunami,
The water does not burn,
Suffocating, smothering, overtaking anyone in its path,
Smashing houses, breaking bones,
It settles over the rooftops of its victim’s houses.
The water murky with wasted lives,
My First Love
Huddled in the darkest cloak of organza,
Alone in the warmth of night.
My cheeks are dry of emotion,
Eyes seeing only shadows of the world,
Roll into my skull turning a piercing gaze internally.
Death is not lurking behind me,
She holds my hand as we walk.
She is my first love.
We stay up all night together,
Her first kiss along the soft flesh of my arms,
Red lipstick staining my corpse like skin.
No one noticed how her love consumed me,
Dark and twisting,
Safe and beautiful.
My body shook when she let go of my hand,
I was terrified without her.
I don’t see her anymore,
Though sometimes I hear her beautifully tempting voice,
I miss her piercing kisses on my skin,
I yearn to see her again, to hold her close.
You never forget your first love.
You stare at a stranger.
Eyes darting around slurping up their features,
You know them intimately but their face is foreign,
As if you had seen it before but cannot recall where,
There is dark purple bruising around her eyes,
And small white spots littering her forehead like paint splatters,
Your eyes are drawn to the middle of their face,
Too large and angular,
It makes you grimace as you watch the nostrils flare.
She is not pretty but you find beauty resting beneath her skin.
The corner of your mouth turns upwards into a smile,
You greet the stranger,
In the mirror.
We are the same.
Our movements pull at the other like the moon and tide,
When torn apart I am an addict,
Falling to the ground limp and consumed by grief,
Experiencing the cold sweats and panic of withdrawal,
When reunited it is the cool syringe of ecstasy,
Nervous excitement buzzing through my veins.
We crash together,
Sizzling warmth burning in our bones,
Melting our skin together,
We cling in desperation to be closer,
Clawing together for comfort,
Becoming complete again.
A Change of Seasons
Children yearn for the brisk chill of winter on their face,
Waiting eagerly for the paint pot to tip and cover the world in white,
Crayon lines turn to wrinkles drawn across our faces
Love turns to resentment,
The cold we embraced now aches in our bones,
Ice on the roads we would have slid and played on frightens us.
~ ~ ~
We waited eagerly for the first sprouts of spring,
Now all we see are weeds,
Imperfections on our carefully bland lawns.
Spring is for cutting down trees,
improving real-estate value.
~ ~ ~
We would bask in the magic of summer nights,
Dense with the thick warm air of bonfires,
Our skin felt naked and free from the stiff fabric of cool air,
Only now we grow stern with the muggy warmth, unable to breath,
We lock ourselves in houses full of deceptive cold.
~ ~ ~
Fall was a time of colour,
collecting fallen leaves,
buying new crisp school supplies,
Now the beauty of the leaves is lost,
Bagged away like dead bodies,
Unwanted and thrown away to rot.
~ ~ ~
Beauty loses its fresh tight face, just as we do,
blowing away like an old withered balloon.