Pain was but a memoir of our tragically beautiful
existence that twisted through my inability to
release you from the atoms that defined the
depleting existence of myself.

Desensitized to the brutality of my impotence
to love you to the magnitude that should of quaked
your heart that instead drove you back to the
other distant figure that dismembered it.

Intoxicated with lust, I thought the potion was
satisfactory to act as the restorative,
saving us from the noose of a dysfunctional
relationship back to the cotton sheets where
we’d observe the springs delirium.

See I was callous and you were compassionate in
my incursion to purge your individuality in a
sinister plot over my own absence of esteem,
lost in my destined oblivion somewhere between
birth and a loathsome existence.

An addictive nature was never defining in my
persona until you made me identifiable by
the smell of tobacco, coffee and the
reeking obsession I never lost for you -
ambushed by the tears that flooded our
farewell as I failed to guide my sobbing heart
through the cataract that glazed your
‘I love you too’.

You acted as though I was playing with
your emotions where emotions run thin
Yet I can’t remember the last time I didn’t
            sit with a sore nose or bloodshot eyes
The alcohol is helping me cope with life but
life is getting in the way of the only positive substance
They call it a bad road acting as if I’m walking
ignoring the signs but the avenue I walk down
just gives me signs of life
            without the signs of life
Maybe I’m a fool to love or maybe I’m part of a
generation that get their kick out of the flakes that
fall from the nose that follows the scent of hope
Living behind a screen where no one brings
flowers but instead encrypt a ‘rest in peace’
to pretend they care in the moment yet
only know you behind a name on a page
            that shows the drought of when you were forgotten
I used to swim in the ocean but now I drown
in low self esteem with no direction other than
when the music fills the club where if you aren’t
drinking then you find yourself intoxicated by a life
that isn’t worth a second look so you try to write
a book to show people the pain but it’s just
            capitalism for the unsavoury brain of a generation
            that wait on death and even then you can’t escape
            because you’re told to choose between good and evil
            and you haven’t necessarily been good or evil
                        you’ve just been - well, you
            So you sit on your throne of lies and bring
            the polish with you to the gates so that
            you are no longer afraid when it gets
            to your time but be afraid of the time
                        because the longer you live the more you die.

What the future holds
is in my hands.

Just a few words penned
by a broken man,
lost in translation so that
only she understands -
Why I’m taking my life
by my own hands

You vanished into innocence
leaving me to follow the trail
of my sins - trapping me in
the smog of white that keeps
me awake.

I could of changed if you'd
of told me but now I'll never
know as I sit perched on my
bed starring at the rope that
is destined to end my hope.

I wanted to be grave of your troubles, burying the burden of the darkness you faced in me so it didn’t hide your light.

But now I lay immersed in the soil, no longer able to face this life without your light.

I’ve been looking for a
more socially acceptable
way to die since you said
goodbye to you and I.

So I light my cigarette
watching the smoke cover
the sky as I continue to
reach for the light.

I know you'll return to where our
heartache was once contained.

I don't want to keep begging to
see you again because now I sit
looking at sixty pages in a book
wondering where what I once
had was lost.