text; un: raverobber

[badfeyth]

What was it that you thought you knew?
"Not much," misfortune seemed to bray,
When all came crashing down on you.

You used to shine in every hue;
Your confidence kept fear at bay.
What was it that you thought you knew?

For like a weed, ambition grew;
Temptation drove your steps astray,
When all came crashing down on you.

Could I have hindered what ensued?
Could this have gone another way?
What was it that you thought you knew?

What matter now? At your debut,
On best intentions, panic preyed.
It all came crashing down on you.

And now upon a time or two,
My own reflection seems to say,
"What was it that you thought you knew
When all came crashing down on you?"

It's been a while since I wrote one of these. They say it's a poetry form that's often used for showcasing a level of obsession; from a technical standpoint, it's also a fairly difficult type to write in because of the rigidity of its form. You pretty much have to pick the refrains first and then work out the rest of it around them.

Anyway, it's probably some level of hubris to put something like this out where anyone and everyone can see it, but call it a way of holding myself accountable to something. If it's out there, I can't set it alight and pretend it never existed. For better or for worse, there it is.

I should probably do more of that than I do, putting things out there and damning the hangups. But any bridge built has to start with a single post, right? Or something like that — don't look at me, I'm not an architect.

Comments

text; un: thevampirelestat

[perfectdevil]

Rigid form, yes, but I always find somehow it's easier to be honest in the confines of poetry. Prose is a little too real, a little too close to the surface. Poetry exists in some middle ground, where it's safer to be so vulnerable.

I hope you're doing well, chérie.

[badfeyth]

I'm...something, at least. Coping, maybe.

What about you? After...

[perfectdevil]

Coping is better than not coping. If the mind can still conjure up imagination, then all cannot be lost to darkness.

I’m alright.

…

Well, actually, I’m quite annoyed. I’m sure you can understand why. I wanted to find you after the fact, but I realised I’m not sure where you live. And more than that, perhaps, you might not be looking for company in the wake of having yourself dragged into the light like that.

[badfeyth]

That's all right — my house isn't really fit for visitors, honestly. In that respect I haven't changed much since I was a child.

I'm sorry it upset you. All of...that.

[perfectdevil]

I quite like the idea of that. Much better than mundane order, at any rate.

It wasn’t the subject matter that upset me, my sweet – though I’d be loathe to call it enjoyable, either – but more the fact that it happened at all. That was your story to tell or to keep, not fodder to fuel whatever strange ritual was being cast. At first I was furious with the City, now I’m not sure where my fury truly lies.

[badfeyth]

I know where everything is, at least. I doubt any visitor could say the same, but that's why they're visitors and not residents.

It's strange, you know. I loathe it too, but at the same time...I think having you all go rummaging around in there sort of dislodged some things that had been long-buried. It's just fractionally easier to think about than it was before.

I guess that's to be expected. When you suppress something for a long time, you forget how terrifying it is — or isn't. I'm not saying it doesn't all still rattle me, but...I don't know. Maybe there was a little bit of catharsis in it, too, somehow.

[perfectdevil]

I see. Catharsis…

It seems I owe you an apology, ma rousse. I somehow forgot how impossibly brave and inspiring you are. To take a moment like this and make it something to gain strength from is an unimaginable feat. I wouldn’t think it possible, and yet here you are.

But of course, I know you are much too modest to agree, so I will surrender. My main concern is you, and whether or not you are alright.

[badfeyth]

Well. I guess sometimes it's just a question of whether there's any alternative to begin with, isn't it? It happened. Either I can cope or I can't, but neither option changes anything.

...

Do you —

I guess it's sort of the elephant in the room, now. All of that, now that people know it. You must think I'm awfully strange, given everything.