A Love Song

To hear an audio version of this song head here;
Ellipsey's Podcast

As you sit here before me sobbing and shaking

I worry about your tears getting my mixer wet.

I want to hear your pain through the crackle of vinyl,

I just don't know what chord to write it in yet.

Too many songs about heartbreak are saccharine and vain,

I want to hear the fabric of your love ripped apart.

A Phil Spector wall of sound playing your deepest pain,

I want to mic up the sound of your breaking heart.

I'm going to make an album of all your lovely hurt,

I want to play your fret-less, useless heart like Flea.

I want to compress your crying and pleading,

Into a 4/4 drum pattern that rises to sorrowful cacophony.

You walked out on me and I had no power to change your mind,

I wanted to tear the soul from your emotionless chest.

Now I've got this recording of the pain he caused you,

I'll let Itunes and the general public do the rest.

x

Anderson Council

To hear an audio version of this poem & others visit here;

Ellipsey's Podcast

It all started with a tea-set.

Life is a mirror of those games I used to play with my dolls, bears and demons,

The cups were full of invisible liquid and the conversation was one-sided at best.

Not much has changed.

I found a note I posted to myself when I was 5,

It simply read, 'Who's listening?'

It all started with a tea-set or did I already feel that way?

My friends and family are just silent playthings as before; dolls, bears and demons.

One battered Gollywog and two ambiguous, porcelain husks of rosy cheeked Americana.

Golly, Winsome and June.

Days spent sipping on pot brewed imagination giving no credence to adult gazes,

Sustenance granted through unmoving lips and lifeless eyes but sustenance nonetheless.

Parents strip away fantasies with raised voices.

I found my dolls, bears and demons the other day, they were in an old satchel under the bed,

I sat them on the edge of our bed and heard our children playing outside.

Everything has changed.

I looked into the glass eyes and buttons and remembered the sounds of my childhood,

I felt my hand become smaller like a child's as the mnemonics did their work.

Relics of a forgotten afternoon.

My children can't understand why I left them, my wife thinks I am immature,

I pour the invisible tea and wait for my old friends to talk to me.

It all started with a tea set.