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Concussions keep the time.
Open me up,
Pour the bombs inside,
Detonator on a D-chord;
Pervasive, brawling ecstasy,
We're all monsters here...

Too pissed for tone,
Too crushed for pitch,
Gaseous fury erupts
From a body in a sea
Of sweat and cigarettes.
We're all monsters here...

Vertebrae scream for relief,
But the heart hasn't had enough.
Somewhere in this
Dionysiac war lies my
Perfect tranquillity,
But we're all monsters here.
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Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 License.
:iconvex0r:

Author's Comments

Written on the way to a metal show in Cleveland. Not really shooting for anything in particular... we talked about the sestina briefly in my writing class but we didn't get into any specifics about how they were done other than there is a line repeated at the end of every stanza.

Having trouble with prose lately, this is weird :P

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:iconmemoriesofporcelain:
i always think mosh pits are a beautiful thing, and this makes me so happy to read :)

--
I'm a statue, baby; knock me out.
---x---
:iconvex0r:
Thanks muchly :)

--
Embrace this moment. Remember: we are eternal. All this pain is an illusion.
:iconarnorath:
if you don't mind, i think i'll have this tattooed on myself somewhere, particularly the last four lines, just so that i've always got it somewhere close to hand.

--
lazy perfectionist
:iconvex0r:
lol That would be an honor, I think. As long as it's sufficiently metal. \m/

Thanks :D

--
Embrace this moment. Remember: we are eternal. All this pain is an illusion.

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March 15, 2009
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