Trainwreck

Trainwreck

A Poem by Elizabeth

virgin white slowly fading
darkness won’t come soon enough
midnight musings

smoky bars and jukebox lovers
tequila solace
twirling dance floors

mascara teardrops
hidden under neon moons

little liar
failure aging
short shirt
designer purse

head turning
dressed to kill

myself

© 2010 Elizabeth


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This is the image of a girl you see at a nightclub, dancing away blithely, seemingly full of life and beauty, ...but hiding the contradictions which linger and bubble underneath the superficiality. She is the "virgin white slowly fading", the pure, pretty little angel, the daddy's girl. But she has a "darkness" that "won't come soon enough"; an inexplicable self-destructive nature which leads her to places and things that were never meant for her assumed perfection and purity.. In the "smoky bars" with the "jukebox lovers", seeking something but finding only "tequila solace" and disillusionment, reflected in her "mascara teardrops" ... The resulting "Trainwreck".
The "little liar" is perhaps the story of many a girl in this modern culture of entertainment, mate-seeking, and soul-searching that goes on day after day, week after week. But its continuance, and discovering nothing, goes on asking a question that maybe has no answer..but then she perhaps does not know the right question..."failure aging" is the result through the years; a reflection of herself, endless, like a self-fulfilling prophecy of her meaning in life. Yet she can still be "dressed to kill" and still provoke the "head turning"...
A tragically real little cameo of a life, concisely and precisely portrayed; a somehow twisted yet common perspective that represents to me an intended fairy tale gone wrong.

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

I have never been much of a poet, I know very little of the different styles of poetry other than what I was taught years ago...Reading this I feel as if I were reading a female Charles Bukowski and I thoroughly enjoy reading Bukowski! This is wonderful.

Posted 12 Years Ago


good

Posted 12 Years Ago


Oh wow, I love this. "Tequila solace" and "neon moons..." I'm a sucker for a clever combination, and those are some pretty excellent ones.

And what an awesome way to end this perfectly-titled poem. Seriously, everything about this just screams bloodstained beauty--an ornate dagger through the ribcage. Spectacular work--thank you so much for sharing it.

Posted 12 Years Ago


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You need to work towards getting your stuff published; I think you have that sort of talent, and what’s peculiar is how your minimalist style rages with meaning and imagery. There hasn't been a single thing of yours that I haven’t been impressed by.

Posted 12 Years Ago


In a everchanging society where the darkness of night condones dancing, drinking, and other pleasantries,

a person truly doesn't see the effects of the night until its over. If you could sense the effects of one thing to another, on a fun night with the classic dances,
then you'd know how the night would unfold, and furthermore how life would unfold. And then it'd be too plain to enjoy.

wonderful write
A song once taught me it was better to feel agony or pain/sadness, or to at least feel something, than to not feel at all.

Posted 13 Years Ago


a powerful write.

Posted 13 Years Ago


wonderful, these words flow like a river, right down to the punch line.

Posted 13 Years Ago


mascara teardrops
hidden under neon moons

Love this line here, this is one powerful write.
So full of emotions...you are very talented.
I am enjoying reading your writes.


Posted 13 Years Ago


WOw very discriptive and provoking

Posted 13 Years Ago


ahhh... neon moons... i still like the moon, and those magic neon signs in all there fake electric glory.

the ending of this poem is fantastic.
and the title.

Posted 13 Years Ago



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Added on July 23, 2010
Last Updated on July 23, 2010

Author

Elizabeth
Elizabeth

Wonderland, TN



About
I am Alice through the looking glass...I mix my metaphors with barbiturates. I take my mania with a glass of milk and I rarely look before crossing the street. Walk a mile in my mary janes, friend. .. more..

Writing
Bones Bones

A Poem by Elizabeth



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