about playing mind games and not being sentimental..
keeps beating on my window shield, screaming at me
for being irrational, for going crazy over your alter ego.
All alone I'm laughing, as if insanity was tickling me
All over and pushing my nose into my multiple flaws.
Sorry if I scared you with bits and pieces of my poetry,
But you know me better than that – I'm not a sentimental type.
I erase – don't treasure. I run – don't sit beneath men.
Won't tie me to your soul, unless your force,
is stronger than the human one.
Don't make me become cynical - of course the man is lucky,
I never write about ordinary beings.
Ironically enough, the earth won't turn 360 degrees,
Just because someone wrote a couple of little love thoughts.
Hell with soft bluish clouds, at least I'm disturbed enough
to choose raw honesty, to inject the antidotes in my system,
to pour red liquor on my fierce temper.
England calls me a feminist, a sexually provocative writer.
Thank you for the compliment, honey, at least
you didn't underestimate my male humour.
Take poetry as poetry, words as words,
Don't be frightened by something you can't grab
with one hand, though you could do that action to my breast -
I assume you'd find plenty of arguments to hold down nature?
It's ok, I always was the only one daring enough
to bite tongues, to act out every beastly instinct
- except Donatien that is;
Others - have enough at playing mind games.
Of course each word I wrote was serious, till the point
Of taking painkillers and rolling over cracking bones,
But I understand, if my writing got too damn close
to the arteries of your heart...
Poetry by FrancescaLuca
Read 612 times
Written on 2006-11-21 at 16:43
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Alter ego
Smiling like a psychopath, while the rainkeeps beating on my window shield, screaming at me
for being irrational, for going crazy over your alter ego.
All alone I'm laughing, as if insanity was tickling me
All over and pushing my nose into my multiple flaws.
Sorry if I scared you with bits and pieces of my poetry,
But you know me better than that – I'm not a sentimental type.
I erase – don't treasure. I run – don't sit beneath men.
Won't tie me to your soul, unless your force,
is stronger than the human one.
Don't make me become cynical - of course the man is lucky,
I never write about ordinary beings.
Ironically enough, the earth won't turn 360 degrees,
Just because someone wrote a couple of little love thoughts.
Hell with soft bluish clouds, at least I'm disturbed enough
to choose raw honesty, to inject the antidotes in my system,
to pour red liquor on my fierce temper.
England calls me a feminist, a sexually provocative writer.
Thank you for the compliment, honey, at least
you didn't underestimate my male humour.
Take poetry as poetry, words as words,
Don't be frightened by something you can't grab
with one hand, though you could do that action to my breast -
I assume you'd find plenty of arguments to hold down nature?
It's ok, I always was the only one daring enough
to bite tongues, to act out every beastly instinct
- except Donatien that is;
Others - have enough at playing mind games.
Of course each word I wrote was serious, till the point
Of taking painkillers and rolling over cracking bones,
But I understand, if my writing got too damn close
to the arteries of your heart...
Poetry by FrancescaLuca
Read 612 times
Written on 2006-11-21 at 16:43
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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