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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Gothic · #1693786
Oh my goth! It's a poem about growing up as an angsty, crazy teenager.
The black tiled room is empty desolate decayed but not silent
On its vomit-smeared pedestal the electric god plays alone
Blinking lights screaming out in the darkness for a hand to reach in
Grab the controls stop the chaos like Jehovah

Old friend old foe who brought order out of chaos
Cosmic Masonic conspiracy, call it the new galactic order
What a disaster
Talk about tax hikes - a pound of goddamn flesh for your soul
And the lights blink on, although no one is watching
Everyone walked away into the light outside
High score, no one cared
Someone forgot to pull the plug

Hot Topic, 2010.
What the hell happened?
They were right, it was all superficial
The black leather was really vinyl
Not thick enough to stop the stake
they drove through Nosferatu's heart
Pop culture kitsch lines the shelves
And yes, Bella Lugosi's really dead this time,
No Peter Murphy to drag him up from the grave,
And sing necromancy to a withered memory
Replaced by black nail polish and bored kids always dying but never dead
Can they just hurry up already?

"And what happens when it's over? Do you pick up and carry on?"
Well apparently they didn't when their one fan cashed out
Resorted to pirating and single handedly put the greatest electrogoth band of all time out of business
Thanks, Amy, lots of love - here's how I pay you back, you heartless bitch
You didn't need to pull me down with the ship

So the same year all hell breaks loose every station goes off the goddamned radio,
Was I the only one who was listening? A solipsistic ear pressed to a metal speaker,
sustaining the existence of a musical cosmos through endless midnights?

I remember running to a payphone like Neo desperate to escape the Matrix
Burning through calling cards the way most kids burn through reefer
Addicted to the sound of a disembodied voice and a forged photograph
I think we were supposed to meet in a field somewhere when the world ended,
And I'd wear leather and she'd have angel wings tatooed on her back
And we'd watch the last sparkles when the atmosphere collapsed
Because Art Bell said so, and that was that
Gospel truth, more reliable than cosmic-pong-playing Jehovah and his musty book

So in the last year Frodo and Sam split,
As if we didn't see this coming....
Everyone knew they were a gay couple
But the church of Sauron turned them away,
So Frodo came up with this "fat hobbit ate all the food" bullshit
And filed for divorce,
And you wondered why he was so desperate to get rid of that ring?

And that's where it all ends - on Mustafar
Roaring magma searing the flesh off an angry youth,
Revealing a charred skeleton, hollow with eyes unblinking

"Life is short, and it's moving way too fast. Wake up, your time has passed."
© Copyright 2010 GnesioZwinglianNervosa (arclion at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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