She loved him so hard she broke his balance
Stumbling through a maze of attraction, affection, and desire
Trying to find footing on familiar ground
he beat her back through his own pain
too far to torture with answered dreams
too close to ignore into normalcy
She loved him so hard he feared he'd shatter in her arms
Seeking safety in benign semblance of emotion
In a reality devoid of enamored souls
unyeilding acceptance proves unforgettable
Deemed undeserved in dreams of promises broken
Ignited by impure thoughts
Requited in guilt, martyred for the comfort
of a truth that never existed
She loved him so hard he was afraid to love her
They call it guilt, John.
That's what the voice in the dark of the night,
would always whisper upon me.
But I was deaf, so I would never hear it.
Oh, it's just what they'll all say,
"It's not your fault",
That your brother died,
That you're a broken husk of a man.
Worry not, worry not, fair snakeskin,
surely you, too,
will shed your skin and fly, fly away.
But he doesn't get to fly now does he?
No all he exists is,
as a sad, cold face,
dead, under the refraction of light,
that pool's death gleams.
Hmm, but you enjoy this don't you,
John, the voice said to me.
The tragic backstory, the shameless reason.
For such gleeful ecstasy, surerly,
The small price of the lie called brother,
of innocence, of life,
of something you never really had, something you never really lose,
what an even sacrifice, John, what a fair toll,
in fact how favored are you, to so enjoy,
I won't tell if you won't, she says, whispered. Why always a she and who? It finishes anyways; whether I want it to...
So I can have,
my whip in hand.
That is my truth.
It's there in black and white
The greater good demands sacrifice
I fall as I fail to penetrate with the sword of truth
Black clouds mask raw wounds worn as shadowed badges
And the proof of fragmented love
How can it be anything else?
A life in platitudes for a moment of freedom
A moment of honesty
A moment greater than those before and those to follow
Incarnadine pages depict the murder of innocence
Turned murder of crows
Set to peck out eyes that see only the good
In a smile that reflects the heart
You yearned to believe existed
Sacrificed, and still...
I would grow bone through flesh to block your pain
Satin runs from dried stains
in torn reminders of convenience
Morning tastes of stale sweat and disappointment... again
Displaced retribution is a punishable offense
sentenced in hangover flashbacks fusing pain in lust heavy deviance
coddling complacency, impaling the nuisance of a persistent past
That serrated double edge glistens with humility and humiliation
licked clean by ravenous canine
flinging leftover apathy on unwitting pawns
Feeding on the deceptively needy
blinded by intoxicated cliches
mistaking release for emotion
Condemnation bartered in stolen commodities
Toilet water hydration reconstitutes enough to bleed
behind neuropathic armor and addiction to the nether
Building a life on cotton candy dreams
smells of the circus and carnival rides
Exuberant children in tousled sheets
Doing untrained acrobatics on a highwire of hope
Melted sugar nightmares crash without a net
Eyes burn in the stench of memories and laughter
Wearing that broken wire like a decade old prom dress
Wishing pieces of that life didn't still smell so sweet
Making everything sour by comparison
Ever wary of the remote reminiscence of
laughter and the exuberance of children
Flesh torn by that highwire gown
Whenever someone smells of the circus and carnival rides
The sewer stink of street trash
marries the scent of desire
veiled in crimson shadows
reflected on the damp pavement
Thoughts silenced by the gasp
of nylons being shredded by possibility
Teeth grip then slip
on the sweat of a humid night
Fireball burns sweet
as night lands on the flesh in city soot
a grit that makes every movement
a sanguinary promise
forged on the edge of pain
Owned. Taken. Willed.
Filled with primal intoxication
that turns warm city nights
into shameless memories
wrapped in the stink of street trash