In honour of The Tremor's song, this page will be filled with new bad teenage poetry every month.
The following poem is called Guilt. It's quite unsettling, and to be honest not quite polished yet. I wrote it while listening to 'Heroin' by the Velvet Underground on a Sunday afternoon, when I was ridiculously overtired from an eventful weekend of arguing and painting and wallowing in my own angst (Just in case you were questioning my being a teenager).
Guilt
She’s running faster,
Touching the clear
liquid as it trickles down her cheeks
Like the mustard on a
hotdog.
She watches him in
the silt,
One hand sewn into
his jeans,
He kicks and screams
As they shove the red
tubes of raw meat down his throat.
They don’t see her
coming
But they see her
miniskirt
Sinking down into
the mud.
Once it was bluer
than his velvet eyes,
But now jet black,
evaporating like Lucy’s diamonds,
And dissolving into
the jelly of the swamp.
Psychedelic screams
spread through the forest,
Spreading and
bleeding like the tie dyed t-shirt
That slides off her
chest.
Her pale skin blinds
their eyes.
They see her now.
They drop the stripling
And break in fear,
leaving the two of them there.
She lugs him over her
shoulder,
The red oozing from
his wrists
And into her hair.
He’s heavy,
Sheath stone cold
like their hearts were
And stuffed fuller than an off chicken from
the deli,
But smelling worse
that the meat.
Worse than a thousand
calories from a thousand dinners.
He smells like
shattered innocence,
An atrophy.
Decay.
Guilt.
Herion - The Velvet Underground
Footage from Andy Warhol's 'Symphony of sound'
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