UKArchive



UKArchive ID: 24850Made Up by Fitbin
Originally published on May 14, 2010 in Poetry

Happiness is a cigar called opium.



Guinevere stabbed Arthur in the back with her dagger of sweet betrayal,
only to awake and find her shining Lancelot was just a dream.
Chloroformed from behind with an infant's soiled nappy,
he quaffed and retched and lapsed deeper into consciousness.
His face was a crimson mask, bladed a thousand times,
the taste of blood spurred him on to gain some revenge.

Out of the blue came an invite to a weekend lynching,
'Beware' whispered the Golden Prophet of Doom into his ear.
'The twitching feet you watch, may end up being your own,
'dangling from the noose, in the last dance of the night!'
The hangman was a friend, but then he snuffed out the light,
found slugging whiskey 'til dawn in an exclusive gentleman's club.

Licking the bridge as he crosses the putrefying water,
gagging on the filth, reminds him of all the lies he swallowed.
The cold cuts straight through his flesh, deep into brittle, white bones,
like an unwelcome intruder, invading the serene sanctity.
He cries a lament for his only love, forever lost,
committing suicide again, he falls on the rusted sword Excalibur.

© Fitbin (fitbin on OLD UKA)
UKArchive ID: 24850
Archived comments for Made Up
sunken on 14-05-2010
Made Up
Good to see you around again, Mr. Fitbin. I think I referred to your last piece as being one of your strongest? I can confirm that this, in my sunken opinion, is stronger still. Love this bit...

'The twitching feet you watch, may end up being your own,
'dangling from the noose, in the last dance of the night!'

The beagle named Bernard, he be woofing for England and no mistake. Well done, fella. You're one of those Ukaneers who tends to get overlooked. I hope that rights itself soon. And now for your personalised reading... ahem,

Fri May 14th: A productive meeting with the minister of angles will find you relaxing this weekend at an incline of approx. 35 degrees. A French poodle with a penchant for feline company will get its head stuck in your cat-flap. You will discover through a friend that a girl you dated in 1998 was a cyborg. Next door's dog will crap on your lawn again.

Please Note: The precision of my readings cannot be guaranteed. I am merely a channel through which my spirit guide (Elvis) speaks. Thank you. Hello?

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Author's Reply:
Thank you Herr Sunken,
I hoped you would like it.
In other news, whatever happened to reality?
Up, is now down.

pdemitchell on 14-05-2010
Made Up
Yep. I agree with Monsiuer le Sunks. A fine surreal piece that I do enjoy (Check out Rodenticide) and selected the same two lines as Sunken as my favourite but 'He cries a lament for his only love, forever lost, committing suicide again, he falls on the rusted sword Excalibur - is pretty cool too. I cannot think of any improvements other than trivial ones of metre but it reads aloud marvellously - especially in a Highland accent for some reason... Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:
I enjoyed writing this. It came to me in a phase of transition.
I love the accent idea.