poem
WRITTEN:
1989, 22 years
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
This was composed when I was head-of-household of a typical Newtown share house of 7, including two couples and some people that weren't talking to each other. As HOH I got to do lots of fun stuff like dealing with the real estate agent and collecting rent from my flatmates, both of which were odious ordeals. There was lots of emotional crap going on and the most ridiculous household politics and I was constantly telling one person what they wanted to hear, the same for another and so on, just to "keep the peace", whether or not it was the truth (often not). One of the flatmates terrified me and I couldn't get anyone to stand with me against him (so he ran up a $2k phone bill in my name that he never paid), and living there was generally a pretty miserable experience, but I couldn't afford to move.
Being rather influenced musically by Lubricated Goat around this time, rather than being a poem, technically this piece was written as lyrics, with a half-baked idea that, if I could find someone in a similar sort of band to perform it, it could be one of those loser's anthem-type things, screamed over heavy feedback and Pantera-type riffs. Oh well, I've had sillier ideas.
Standing at the edge of a precipice, looking down
Black, oh so black, like the pit of my soul
So many secrets held within me, I feel I'm falling
Swaying at the edge of a precipice with gravity sucking me down
So many reasons for lying and no advantages to telling the truth
I'm just looking out for their feelings; nothing more
Protecting them from cold reality, which would hurt them
Laying the velvet carpet for them while I sleep with sandpaper sheets
Truth is a poison, in my existence
Truth is the poison of my existence
Lies are all I have holding me together
Lies are all they get from me, holding us apart
Standing, swaying, at the precipice: one word could topple me
Holding my breath, planning plans within plans
Testing the credibility of my life
Examining the gullibility of my audience
Off the top of my head I talk
I'm a bare-faced liar
A craftsperson, weaving words like thread
Building an ever-more-complex web
I tell my lies, bend them subtly, twist them round
Til the black of the precipice fades to a less frightening grey
And I may extricate myself from the web
With more lies: lies woven of a finer thread
One day, I hope, I'll be free from this need
To alter my image, to soothe their fears
And then I can speak truth bravely, without fear of reprimand
Off the top of my head: the truth