Don't let me be
acquaintance ancestry.
Celestial bodies deny me peace,
hidden behind moonlight white sheets and
skyscraper evidence markers.
But I, advice malnourished, recede
among the intangible tangents
of lesser-used thoughts.
I let the shadows take me because
maybe they should have a long time ago
and I was too scared to let them out of my veins,
let the crack from my neck
leak the demons and my trust.
Don't let me be
predisposed possibility,
never so whole as seraphs and satanists,
guided by singularity.
My lives were revolutions,
made up of weaker constitutions
encapsulated, a prescription purpose
that guides me past milligram monument men
braver than I was, but already marble ghosts.
Let me be the helpful dream,
the stitcher of seams;
it seems the tie is torn too much,
the threads thrown astray like things lost in space,
too tangled to discern the strongest way to
reinforce the conclusion of my weakness.
Let me be the used-to-be,
the once-was boy who could never see.
Blindness is a condition I accept willingly,
and deafness with it, and warmth's retreat.
Let me be cold, forgotten gold
buried beneath a tombstone treasure map.
Let me go.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
Don't let me be
acquaintance ancestry.
Celestial bodies deny me peace,
hidden behind moonlight white sheets and
skyscraper evidence markers.
But I, advice malnourished, recede
among the intangible tangents
of lesser-used thoughts.
I let the shadows take me because
maybe they should have a long time ago
and I was too scared to let them out of my veins,
let the crack from my neck
leak the demons and my trust.
Don't let me be
predisposed possibility,
never so whole as seraphs and satanists,
guided by singularity.
My lives were revolutions,
made up of weaker constitutions
encapsulated, a prescription purpose
that guides me past milligram monument men
braver than I was, but already marble ghosts.
Let me be the helpful dream,
the stitcher of seams;
it seems the tie is torn too much,
the threads thrown astray like things lost in space,
too tangled to discern the strongest way to
reinforce the conclusion of my weakness.
Let me be the used-to-be,
the once-was boy who could never see.
Blindness is a condition I accept willingly,
and deafness with it, and warmth's retreat.
Let me be cold, forgotten gold
buried beneath a tombstone treasure map.
Let me go.
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