Musik: Parasite - Nick Drake
Klieden: Red vest top, black jeans
Filme: (500) Days of Summer (Webb)
Buchen: Evelina by Frances Burney
So, I haven't written in a long time. Or else, I haven't posted much here. No, I think it's the first one actually! This poem is about how it feels to experience paranoia, it's called Paper Thoughts.
The door isn’t pine, mahogany, oak,
I don’t know what it is;
Some other wood made from other wood.
It opens with a
Shlick.
The ground is shiny laminate,
More fake wood;
A whole fake forest of chairs, desks-
I count the preserved lives of trees,
Then realise the sheer amount of paper…
Paper appointment slips, prescription slips,
Any kind of slip for anything you need.
I picture a thousand spirits, screaming as they are ripped
From their woodland counter-parts.
When I’m handed my very own slip,
There is a screaming mouth bursting from it;
For one tenth of a second-
Before it is flat, lifeless
Dead.
But I see it sneak a glance,
At the glossy brothers that surround it-
Smothered in chemicals, colours,
So that they are unrecognisable.
It’s a very pregnant pause, this waiting;
Particularly as I am acutely aware
Of the rustling;
Louder than an automatic drill.
Papered walls as well!
Every inch plastered in it,
Completely consumed by deadness.
How unbearable.
Is it time yet?
I want to be outside, among the living.
I place my slip surreptitiously away from me,
Move my chair forwards;
Not touching the walls anymore.
God, stop crinkling it!
You’d think he knew it bothered me-
Fat brute.
Wind disturbs the thin leaves-
But there is no breeze today.
Was that rip in the wall…always there?
Don’t panic.
But the shredding rip is moving ever closer…
It shall soon be upon me.
Rustling, rustling, rustling,
Like a hoard of angry bees approaching.
And I placed my slip at least three inches further away.
To leave is to touch a hostile surface-
I’m trapped.
The souls are screaming in my ear, rip grows, rustles louder, slip nearer,
I am helpless.
This vengeance is cold, calculated and ancient;
I cry out-
But even as they run to me,
I know that it is already becoming too late.
Not understanding, she picks up the slip-
A mistake.
Such piercing screams I cover my ears in alarm;
People stumble about, astounded.
The rips in the wall gape at them sinisterly,
How can they be so ignorant?
My paper world is consumed by paper screams,
And paper life is maintained by paper death.
