The Icy Lips of Lonliness

[CynicalGuitarist]

No longer have I cares.

No longer have I worries.

No longer have I identity.

No longer have I feelings.

They've ended in ice.

 

While you feel the embracing blanket of another,

The security, the vitality, the warmth,

I am cloaked by the nilhistic encompassing of isolation.

While they feel the parabolic lips of togetherness,

My lips have chapped from the icy, cold lips of lonliness.

 

Everyday, I'm getting number, growing apathetic, running low on fuel, and preparing to crash land.

I find myself lost on an Antartic island where my will has to survive; nowhere to swim and no ships to save me.

I have but my own thought to fill the void which my stomach is in need of filling.

 

The fires of hell await,

I'm finally back to where I began.

However, I've lost reason to answer,

If I'm going back to fire or ice again.

 

copyright 2007

[isidore]

For some Unnamable reason, when I read your poem the story At the Mountains of Madness instantly sprang to mind.

[CynicalGuitarist]

For some Unnamable reason, when I read your poem the story At the Mountains of Madness instantly sprang to mind.

 

Most of the inspiration came from a quote "some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice" -Kurt Vonnegut

[Daddy Bear]

Likin' that. It's amazing how sharply our negative emotions can focus our creativity. You can almost look through a catalog of song lyrics, for example, and see which ones were born of genuine anguish.

 

I guess that's what they mean by "all artists gotta suffer," huh?