johannes palmason

Breakfast In Bed - Poem by johannes palmason

the city they lived in was an blank page, filthy
false pride, lies and both of them were guilty
Lucy was blonde and her age stood still
while Paul took his notes and wrote´em down with an old quill
Lucy had grey eyes what a face she had
intensionally she could drive any man mad
Paul was rugged, ugly, unshaven and silent
physical, build like a tank with the need to get violent
vicious romance slow dancing vanity unhealthy marriage
Paul gave Lucy a hectic night that lead to miscarriage
self pity they traveled around the city in rental cars
under the impression they could fix their mental scars
spider senses, butterfly kisses up and down her back
dirty photographs caught to the wall with multi color tacks
both off key the black grand piano stood in the corner
honoring the short life of Lucy´s mother

early in the morning they began a twisted child´s play
with a bad breath you could easily smell miles away
Paul was full of rage and it used to build up slowly
the way he always drank was greedy and unholy
Lucy always blamed others for being dead broke
trying to crack a fake smile laughing at dirty jokes
surrounded by roaches, needles broken dreams a lethal mind state
their lifestyle kept decent people awake
the light above them was blue 24/7 they made some noise
screaming at the neighbors like a singer without a voice
they dressed casual both non intellectual
ignoring the masses their madness arrived on schedule
clouds in Lucy´s fragile mind slicing the wrist
at the same time she blew Paul a kiss from her fingertips
Paul took the corpse and laid it in the corner
honoring the memory of Lucy and her mother

Paul was now left alone with a double bed and one pillow
broken branches crying inside like a weeping willow
sleeping in the afternoon while the ceiling leaks
shaving with a razor blade that had lived for weeks
holes in his socks and all the lights turned off
abstract images confusion and moping kayos
the moment is so empty it´s nothing worse then waiting
walls coming down Lucy´s photographs are fading
swimming up stream there is simply no use anymore
so Paul barricades all the windows and the front door
consumed by grief the misty fog dosen´t move
strength is in the numbers and they are going through the roof
playing sadly on the piano can´t find courage to go on
it´s hard to close your eyes when you´re the eye of the storm
his breath is calm Paul makes his way into the corner
joining the fate of Lucy and her mother

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Poem Submitted: Friday, February 26, 2010

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