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This Whitest Purse

Staring into stars, the lonely people drink their tears

And genuflect to empty car parks and swallow their fears

Like Ernest Hemingway, they grit their teeth and laugh

********* a pocket bullet, contemplating aftermath

And the shadows bend and grow…

And the embers shine below.

Geared for success, the lonely boy begins to starve

His chest heaving from stress, his wish for waterfall in cars

Freeways self-entitled, forcing ants into the gutter

While a lonely father cries and the boy freezes and sputters

And the doorway opens up

As the mouth is finally shut.

 

“I’m not mad, son, you’ve only disappointed me”

Father, point the way for me, where is my life leading?!

Should I sacrifice my happiness for a chance at succeeding?

Should these calloused hands be empty, do I need a beating?

 

You need to straighten up your tie and keep your noses clean.

My mother’s eyes in moonlight silently judging me

Inhumanity, why don’t you rule these streets?

I bite my bottom lip and gaze down at my feet

Lumped chunk of nicotine

Pushing itself out of me.

 

I want to stop blending rainwater with my leaking eye-sockets,

Crying for another with which to share my gold locket,

Tossing and turning, wondering where I will be next

And for God’s sake, can I do it, am I trying my very best!?

 

Why can’t I get up on time like every normal human being?

Why do I always get sick, why do my guts hate me?

Why are all my joints always crackling and aching?

I never want to live, don’t ever try to save me!

 

“I’m not mad, son, you’ve only disappointed me”

Father, point the way for me, where is my life leading?!

Should I sacrifice my happiness for a chance at succeeding?

Should these calloused hands be empty, do I need a beating?

 

Staring into stars, the lonely people sit and smile

Counting all the faces staring back, retracing miles

Celestial serenity, striving for an energy

Never needing inquiry, embracing the no thing!

 

Should these calloused hands be empty?

Do I need a beating?

Will these pruning hands deceive me?

This Universe is in me.

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Written by
mellow-ds
American
Published
Jun 3, 2011
Lines·Words
42·360
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