we sit in the gym
kettle bells ring a soundless cacophony
blue blooded monsters sweating silently

when a trance starts to play
they look up their heads to the sound
it comforts them
it gives them a pulse
which these lifeless hunks aren’t used to.

but i
listen to the trance

and i feel my blue blood boil to red
i am not feeling a pulse.
but i am alive
and i
hate it all.

i mean it when i say
i would give every part of my mortal soul
to her. 

is it normal, because to be
honest
it doesn’t feel that way. 

she tells me to turn to her, when we could easily face away
she cups my face in her life giving hands

and i mean it when i say
i would give every part of my ****** dead old heart
to her. 

she looks in my eyes with a effortless glance
of hazel specked eyes.

dying stars live and live on for only to see her.

and i mean it when i say
i would give my last dying breath
to her.

she runs her hands into my hair
weaving a maze made for me
to find my way out,
to see her one last time.

and i mean it all because
she makes me,
die and become more alive than i have ever been.
and all i want,
is to give that back

to her.

marvel at the natural beauty of;

gum stars on bitumen skies,

battered broken and bruised,


Weary eyed in lucky times.

city dreamers on the outskirts

grey skin from smog grey skies


twenty-something and passionately passive


hotshot kids run to us

then after a few years they become us

it’s a cruel cycle, a corporate curse if you will,

churning

out


dreary office drones and

diplomatic diversity.