I haven't written in a long while. I sat down yesterday and this is what came out. Not quite sure of what to do with it as it's still incredibly rough. Ideas appreciated. C4C.

Harvey Dent Theocracy

And it's barely october but it's already winter,
And your friends make this so barometric,
And I'm the bad guy, as I've always been,
so adding to the blame I've so far collected,

I've started smoking, but couldn't tell you,
I tried once or twice, but didn't have the heart,
It wasn't so much your dissapointment,
but the guilt that would make it so hard,

And you told me that the pills made you sick,
when you took them at the same time everynight,
and that you weren't going to take them no more,
but maybe this time the doctors were right,

You didn't make it easy, the drugs weren't to blame,
Each conversation was followed by a suture,
You took away the worst parts of me,
but also took the name from my future,

A few chords were all that replaced you,
and I didn't think they were enough,
Calloused fingers pressed against the wood,
for me this was the meaning of love,

And I guess I owe it mostly to you,
as much as I don't want to admit the rest,
Cultivated and grown purely for the harvest,
my guardian angel was the one of death,

And moments of silence replaced the music,
And that void became my new definition,
If it didn't exist for me,
then it could only exist in degradation,

And so you convinced me that you're all the same,
same wants, same cares, same need to prey,
I'm sorry I didn't have the attention,
that you needed every ****ing day,

But all that bullshit you'd put on before
about being such a ****ing princess,
giving me lines of how the world is your oyster,
until I said to give that shit a rest,

Live your life wrapped in your problems,
But you'll never leave the city limits,
because you're too scared of the world I've found,

Another song about moving on,
Another song about love so true,
Another song about being sad,
the last song I write about you.
Last edited by rooster456 at Aug 8, 2010,
Can't come up with anything bad about this. Sometimes I noticed when I haven't wrote in a while and I finally sit down I come up with some of my best material. Great job!
You definitely called in the self-fulfilling prophecy card with the degradation bit - after that, the bitter but forgiving poem turns angry and lost, grasping at straws, unbeknownst to the children that already split them. You can suck nothing from these, and they can take nothing from you. Pretty much how the last few stanzas stand: it's good they were written probably, but now it's time for them to go.

Recently, in the harbor of a small fishing town, a middle aged man yelled obscenities at the skipper who'd just fired him, tossing every insult he could think of to the air, to the stoic old man. The policeman showed up after that, and the other deckhand introduced himself with dignity. We went about our business. The captain on the dramaboat stood still. Tempers flared like the sun, you could see it underneath that overcast sky. In a precious few minutes, the employed and dignified deckhand went from being so to a racist villain like the first one, then being fired himself, flung bottles of bleach and dishsoap from other boats in the direction of his former summer home. I picked up his tossed sunglasses later. They've served me well.

The narrator of this poem is at once that respectable man with the sunglasses, and by the end walks away just as he did, without his integrity or his position. I don't know what happened in there, but something in his mind rebelled against itself, and that smoking confession of yours becomes not your love's protection, but your moral enemy. Maybe that was the point.