A Letter To Adele In My Head

A Letter To Adele In My Head long poem

Photo by Jackal1


*Read as Macloghin, with a g, not an f

Angriness paves way to thought and it is me who is thinking,
though I feel otherwise, and see whoever it was that god in that song,
telling me to be clown’s sadness, I relent, like before, then I’m bound to Dundee,
binding my exes’ laughter, I don’t know why!
I’m too proud: can be all that I am, not in the
sense of Greatness, but Great yet,
I’m lost my dear lovers, Dundee’s clown’s abrupt sounds
or how I heard him, was his songs great, as you said:
Black nights, all quivering with desire,
but I am feeling sick at the world, as I was
meant to be, but I, too
shall change my fate,
song I sing for you, when I’m
away, hear them
dear, and make your mind,
before God or the devil as he may be takes you away,
lover, do despise music,
a bird in the sky, shakes in
the breeze, fate is nothing
to be afraid of,
it too, lover, like you and I,
is uncertain I am sure,
“then one day fly away,
a way out,”
right I am too disgusted
with a music in the sky,
and where must I go hide,
my fate is not a word,
it is my life, quivering with desire,
like the night you
were afraid of:
I smell badly at the oft sung,
I too am, and still,
hoping for your heart to desire
to leave, quivering?
Punks sing,
and lovers fall in love,
but all the time they talk about the Christ I knew,
He too, like I,
fell in love,
and broke his heart greatly, forever hating his fate,
you know how it is like,

words they do not say, must not say,
what they are supposed to function, they
are supposed to rot, then they, like
necrophiliacs, eat each other, till
someone fornicates, and everyone then can peacefully die,
shall you and I, like Christ, that lovely man,
who God’s children often remember,
I, and you do too, hidden, if only you knew,
Freud they say, I am in pain, shall I realize His way, quivering?
Because I am in tears,
singing my mind
should I leave the streets so sacredly depicted?
Should I then Frued’s street fall with I cry! So I sing, because
you were around,
should I look your way, penis mine,
small like fate!
I see them, despising them, I know I am not like you,
I am nothing like you, I told you so,
there is no poet who is not the smallest at heart,
I know you understand, my love,
but still I fear: my fate is greater than this:
means nothing to me, sexuality,
songs are all you see, make sense to me,
but I know you’d understand,
that I know:
“I say to you, too, today, your heart is still pure, Christian, dawned upon me, that I too will go your way.”

The cigarette I smoked, like a woman I fell for, and desire
no sympathy for it:
I am no woman like you, desiring nothing
but looking like I’m here today, angel,
words do not say!
I am cigarette smoke,
burning like Christ’s heart,
and I feel today, I am in
love, and things are alright,
they are!
She is English, sultry,
it’s my heart she wears,
when she wears that smile, that
I choose to let go,
away, because my
fate,
lost sympathetically
to the Greatest light:
I want to see the light,
the light that dies to be seen,

So I took heroin,
I’m not Great, but the light,
still dies inside me,
sympathetically too,
should I smoke today?
Or sing, or leave this
nation,
forever today,
like a death dying to be seen,
boy, am I laughing,
I’ve seen you, desiring
nothing,
I am all desire,
but no pain!
Am I a sight to be seen!
Then, you say to me,
lover you are nothing,
come away with me,
Cipher O, cipher, take me to that land
it pleases me to stay,
so still,
I am nothing in truth,
dreams do come true, my friend,
I need then to live like, so thank you!
I break my head all the
time, but I don’t desire you
to be everything in my life,
just an injection
an love me all the time,
I desire love
but my hate doesn’t relent,

All that I hear, I too wish to resuscitate
feeling, but no imagination
do your eyes create so loud then that I listen!
This is not a song!
These are ugly boys
nothing to do
but listen to your charming teaching:
I am losing my head,
if I killed myself,
could I then be,
all that you want from me?
But I could never feel otherwise
I choose what I feel,
and reason in its
dark, perennial rainforests
does not suffice
to stay in the light,
there in my heart when
you say to me to be quiet, lover,
Are we images?
Or does meaning then reside in
the words beating away?
You
speak all this time,
I’m a pop star,
but what’s the point?
So come away with me,
it’s great that the
light
shines my way,
moves like thought,
always in flight,
whereas all my love,
is taking me away
to that night
when you said,
and I loved you since then,
said to you:
I am should I be too
like wisdom for everyone,
then the great words
fell over
from your head,

Mclaughin’s* face dropped in shame,
a feeling he said,
that did not arise,
from within, like love:
but came from books,
and he laughed,
and so did the priest,
when he heard the Christians weep,
when their Father died,
and then,
they walked over to Tennyson
with a mindset strong,
all emotions, and had a drink,
then they left,
each to his own,
at the end of the day!
Lover, don’t be sad,
it’s more than you have,
a song you said,
stays with me still,
I hope you do too,
I wish you could just
take that fall,
that’s all he thought,

I love you too, Adele, woman in my head,
it’s not real, it’s all I wanted to stay with you,
then I wrote a Haiku:
lovers are meant to be,
Varg Vikernes, I said,
and they looked at me,
I felt in a corner,
but I don’t lose hope,
like the murderer does,
towards his death,
and shuts the fuck up,
and leaves his medication,
pain, then, is love,
and, who then weeps?
who, then, friend, understands,
the poem I wrote better than you?
I won’t stay, as my time passes away,
but fall in love again,
as love I am today,
who is here to see?

Arms raised,
you see but it’s dark,
and father, I felt it too,
son, you are
here too, then you’re gone,
don’t life go away
like the words
you use in the
night then there
was a light
though there shouldn’t
have been,
and you were gone,
you were away,
boy, were you laughing too, dad,
I was there, and
the skies didn’t wonder no more,
why you’re here still,
then you lied to me,
and fell,
then I laughed,
and you cried, father I know
you did,
all I tried
was to be by your side
but in the end,
that’s the way
were to be,
and, I left hoping,
you’d have me back when
the song is over,
and I said:
love too father is not
the same as love at
all,
but is another,
and, goodbye, I thought,
you’re there
I have known but it’s not what I’ve got
so didn’t you know,
what sins have become
I,
when I broke up with you then,
you told me to leave
to, but there’s nowhere to
go, and why,
part of me is still up with him,
and part of me is with you woman,
breasts all over
is to should be,
suckling sexuality,
then we laughed, to be with you,
then we lived there forever,
but what about the dreams
we saw,
I bet it’s up there with you:
everything or nothing, dear love,
go now to your destiny,
Mclaughin, your pain is your
own, don’t meddle with it,
No I thought, and didn’t leave
her hand,
but then Greatness whispered
to us,
he who loves sees no evil,
either when this mighty weapon
of the night
gladly shoots us
with the light
then we smile,
as if wondering what to say
to another
a word of
wisdom, yet nothing,
but nothing is heard,

I’m feeling like it’s over!
Nearing its end, I see myself drowning
in that feeling
that dies so suddenly someday,
and, written, how it may be,
it’s not the same feeling,
cos what God or devil
may this be, is
not greater than this road
then you
walk, or run, and all is fun and games,
but she whispers on the way,
sometimes you stay, sometimes you go,
and all is lost, until one day
the song in your head,
that on the way came to you,
and the feeling stays with you forever,
I’m lost it says,
the path you’re on,
when you’re gone,
does another take,

Father, mother all that’s there,
likes me too,
family, what’s it for, nothing at all,
so voices go,
and in the end,
no thought comes to you,
dashes, rhythms, michelmas’ broken finger on afternoon
at cricket, with older boys,
catching the ball so high,
and the pain was great:
as the pain: he wished the finger wasn’t broken,
but the ball was so high,
and fell so fast,
in a country where
boys are taught not to cry,
he felt a pain of being unable
to catch the ball,
and making it to the tournament,
but cried instead at the pain,
that was so great,
of a broken finger,
could not play in that match:

It’s over, my dears,
my dreams
torn apart between two loves:
reality and fiction
I chose something between,
in the past,
proud, as I am, but no one
knows, except me,
pains when the imagination
no longer exists,
for a writer,
once I had it,
something’s wrong!
I understand that it’s something to do with you,
so change my mind a thousand times,
and listen to the devil, but really Adele,
to a writer it means everything,
yet what the fuck!
I think
and became
what I was ten years ago,
desiring a game badly so
that I forgot my pain,
so I don’t love, unless it springs
but it never does
except to the imagination,
still I
reveal all that I know or believe or create
whatever a song may be,
but reality
is so further away
that this
really great smoke
clouding the city
in a beautiful place
really beautiful, but reality’s away,
yet I stare
but do I look away?
and see what’s what, and where must I be,
you’re here, and
all is fine,
somewhere in the way,
things make their appearance,
the curtain falls,
and I see, feel,
then think, but never,
do I want to be
at the place so
at hearts should I
see,
should I then look
at the witches or bitches today?
it’s a modern play:
things are so ultimately risen
from ulterior things,
feelings and opinions,
and newspapers that
we forget its wrath,
this play,
then you say
stay, my love,
not far away from here
are things precisely to eyes
the night the way it was back then,
when the ball so high,
halfway in the sky,
was precisely that way,
playing as it were in the waking morn,
and you did was good,
and that’s why you run
away, I suppose, that’s good too,
when the modern play
was always meant to stay with you.

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