"Sorry",
What is that for ME?
Your confession or apology?
It’s what YOU are,
Your finally exposed,
Your stated regret,
And what you owe,
thanks
BLCostello©2025

Oh little man,
You land where you fall,
You really have no plan at all,
No sense of loss,
No fear of dying,
How brave you are,
So good at lying,
You felt that loss,
Like a severed leg,
You fear the unknown,
And the voice in you head,
And now…you are lame,
You limp,
Sometimes crawl,
You bleed everywhere,
You land where you fall
BLCostello©2025

I'm skipping stones across the lake
with my eyes closed
and now I can only see you
in a drunken dream.

I'm searching for the lost song
and the melody I knew
before your eyes had died.

the words I didn't say.
the strings of the lost cords
seated in sorrow, sometimes joy,
lost in tomorrow's rain,
found in a photo alblum.

the thinly stretched cords in 1/4 tones.
the rhythms from your heart beating.

the tender touch of vibrating strings.

you walked away untouched,
brushed the dust from your sleeves,
like we were nothing more
than a house you once lived in,
a place you left without looking back.

but i am still here,
standing in the wreckage of us,
barefoot on shattered glass,
hands sifting through the debris,
searching for something
that proves we were real.

was it always this easy for you?
to unlove, to forget,
to let me become a story
you tell without feeling?
or did you just run fast enough
to leave the weight behind?

i wonder if i was ever more
than just another room you passed through.
because here i am,
still trying to rebuild myself,
while you’ve already found a new home.

New people see my darkness
They get so intrigued
As if I’m something exquisite
Not to be believed
I don’t romanticize it
It brings me to my knees
But I do embrace it
Maybe my darkness is the most interesting thing about me
I think I feel like I exist.

Human beings
completely intricate—
distorted, subtle, direct, ironic,
melancholic, and other adjectives…
Not as clearly defined and innovative as their works.

In transcending the mirage,
longing for fulfillment,
made from the same clay,
the same flesh and bones.

They were born and still live,
sometimes, they pass away.

In the marketplace of lost illusions,
unwanted experiences—
transforming, shaping the messages
received from the Looking Glass World.
Seeking a new idea, like an exotic flavor—
to remember, to forget, to be angry,
to reflect, to love, to hate, to be loved.

And all of this for something so elusive,
to make life more tender.
Their fate was decided before
they could ever think...
And for what?

To laugh, to cry,
to be safe or stoic,
and to touch this strange structure.

Losing grip on reality,
without balance,
as they used to say.

I’m already on a dizzying poetic carousel,
with one foot in my normal life,
and one hand in virtual poetry.