Decaying Symphony - still in it's infant stages
EvilToasterElf
Posts: 1,119
Decaying Symphony
Left alone through frozen January the kitchen pipes freeze
and explode through the wall
when I flush the toilet
The water poured like cymbals through the floor
and filled the basement with three inches of water
which I watch run through rust, it turns orange
under the 60 watt sunlight.
The water finds a drain in the corner, leaving a slightly
cleaner floor than it found, echoing into the sewer system
I set to work out
on the punching bag that sways with the warping frame
in the heavy Binghamton wind
With each punch, each slight depression of the bag
a thud forces its way through the cobweb ceiling into the living room above
For a half hour the entire three story house rattles like tribal drums
from my exertion in the small area of the basement adjacent to the laundry room
where two washers and two dryers hummed in unison over a soaked
green carpet that was the first flood victim
An energy saving light bulb, blinks brokenly over the dryers
with small electrical cracks
On the other side of this room is the skeleton of a crudely built hazing room
This house was a frat house once
This room in the corner of the basement has no light fixtures, and the corrugated
walls were covered in carpet and egg crates, cheaply soundproofed so that the pleas
of pledges, or drunken freshman girls wouldn’t penetrate into the house
We tore those walls down, leaving only a ribcage of two by four’s
within those yellowing bars we placed gym equipment
The ceiling possessed an amazing determination to hold up the house
using only dust and pealing paint
In a house where more than four hundred people would periodically dance
to the rhythm of reggae and R&B
The pipes hung lower than the ceiling though
bulky remnants of it’s forgotten construction
sloshing toilet and sink water like waves slapping a cruise ship
The dampness wheezed from the lungs
of screaming memory
the girl who died of stab wounds after she
was raped beneath 24 Mather St.
Left alone through frozen January the kitchen pipes freeze
and explode through the wall
when I flush the toilet
The water poured like cymbals through the floor
and filled the basement with three inches of water
which I watch run through rust, it turns orange
under the 60 watt sunlight.
The water finds a drain in the corner, leaving a slightly
cleaner floor than it found, echoing into the sewer system
I set to work out
on the punching bag that sways with the warping frame
in the heavy Binghamton wind
With each punch, each slight depression of the bag
a thud forces its way through the cobweb ceiling into the living room above
For a half hour the entire three story house rattles like tribal drums
from my exertion in the small area of the basement adjacent to the laundry room
where two washers and two dryers hummed in unison over a soaked
green carpet that was the first flood victim
An energy saving light bulb, blinks brokenly over the dryers
with small electrical cracks
On the other side of this room is the skeleton of a crudely built hazing room
This house was a frat house once
This room in the corner of the basement has no light fixtures, and the corrugated
walls were covered in carpet and egg crates, cheaply soundproofed so that the pleas
of pledges, or drunken freshman girls wouldn’t penetrate into the house
We tore those walls down, leaving only a ribcage of two by four’s
within those yellowing bars we placed gym equipment
The ceiling possessed an amazing determination to hold up the house
using only dust and pealing paint
In a house where more than four hundred people would periodically dance
to the rhythm of reggae and R&B
The pipes hung lower than the ceiling though
bulky remnants of it’s forgotten construction
sloshing toilet and sink water like waves slapping a cruise ship
The dampness wheezed from the lungs
of screaming memory
the girl who died of stab wounds after she
was raped beneath 24 Mather St.
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Decaying Symphony
Left alone through frozen January the kitchen pipes freeze,
and explode through the wall
when I flush the toilet.
The water pours like cymbals through the floor
and fills the basement with three inches of water,
which I watch run through rust, orange
under 60 watt sunlight.
The water finds a drain in the corner, cleaning as it
runs, echoes in the sewer system.
I set to work out
on the punching bag that sways with each punch,
each slight depression of the bag
forces its way through the cobweb ceiling.
The three-story house rattles like tribal drums,
from my exertion near two washers and dryers that hum in unison.
Under an energy saving light, that blinks
with electrical cracking.
On my other side is the skeleton of a crude hazing room.
This house was a frat house once.
This room has no light fixtures, and the corrugated
walls were covered in carpet and egg crates, soundproofed to the pleas
of pledges, or drunken freshman girls.
We tore down those walls, leaving a ribcage of two by four’s.
within those yellowing bars we placed weight sets
In a house where more than four hundred people dance
to the rhythm of reggae and R&B
The bulky pipes hang low
sloshing toilet and sink water like waves
wheezed from the lungs
of screaming memory
the girl who died of stab wounds
raped beneath 24 Mather St.
No, that wasn't really it's name
But it was yellow just the same
'Cuz i lived there
In the back yard after spring had come
dandelions and tiny blue bells
literally littered the sea of dark green grass
and we'd smoke grass
like we were lawnmowers
Well, not really lawnmowers
because that would take a lot of grass
and ain't nobody had that kind of green
We didn't even own a lawnmower
But fungus grew
Fungus grew slimy and shelven, elven...
in three different kinds
in two different bathrooms that faced
each other down the shotgun hall
and we ate mushrooms like termites
well, not really like termites
because termites eat mushrooms for enzymes
that break down cellulose
So, maybe like termites
All that wood
And speaking of cellulose
There were seven other bitches in that house, evil...
and we each paid more than our tuitions to live there
They'd blast the fucking Steve Miller Band all day
on repeat, and this was just before CD's evolved, so you know
they really liked "Keep on A Rocking Me Baby"
I ate toast, toaster...
all the time
toast with butter
my favorite?
rye
Rye like acid
really...
like acid...
it was good.
I'm a big rye fan myself - I like throwing some cheddar on any kind of bread and melt it in the toaster oven - brain food
my opinion? it loses it's flavor when melted...
better to melt swiss