I only came
Here for poetry.
Not quite sure
What I've seen
But it's blown
My mind away.
I am so
Performance art green!
In hindsight
I should have given
Tonight a total swerve
For that display
By David
Really hit my raw nerve.
Writing your self loathing
Right across your chest
Laying bare your feelings
Was it some cuntish test?
Fucking cheers for the reminder
Of how shit my life has been
Finishing it with your hanging
I can only dream.
Sometimes I feel like dying
Other days I am alive
Ironically
It's morbid performances
Like yours
That keep me alive.
Dulwich Poet 25th June 2014
(Went to the Spoken Word London poetry night in Dalston, where one man did a piece that he told me after was 'performance art'. He spoke of his hatred of himself as he grew up, took off his t-shirt, and wrote 'cunt' all over his torso. The 'finale' was him pretending to hang himself with his belt)
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