I long

To linger no more
      in the hallways of amnesia;
      A clearing of the iridescent haze
      Into a world beyond ー

To sing here no more
      the sound of soulless sorrows;
      Echo into the distant
      Scapes and seas ー

To see no more
      the sights untold;
      Watch men erode,
      Pale petals unfold ー

And fall back on an unbroken dream.

And four white walls
were caving in on me
Feeling claustrophobic in a room all alone
like surrounded by germs
sneaking up in my skin and running through my veins
I'll cry myself sober
'til the darkness escapes my head
Though an empty bottle
lies in the palm of my right hand
that isn't all that's left
With a cigarette between my lips
Unlit
The cancer in my body will crave
it's taste but instead feel it's touch
Deceived
like empty promises
The tears that fall from my eyes
will race down my cheeks
the same way I ran for your love
They'll drip down my chin
The same way you pushed me off the cliff
They'll sink into my jean pockets
The same way my body decomposed into the dirt of the ground
And they'll evaporate
The same way your brain had amnesia over my soul
Oblivion
We're all going to die anyway
But being forgotten was my only fear
Especially by you..
I can't touch heaven,
And that's why I wanted you
Because I know
that there are no good men in this world
that will take me to heaven
thus a bad boy will bring it to me
No silverware cutlery is needed
And no silver platter has to deliver it
Can a soul like mine rest reassured
with a haunting memory
like your smile etched in my head?
Will a soul like mine travel
to the afterlife in confidence
with a warm hand hooked to mine,
like I have nothing to lose
so long as I have you?
When that whiskey had me feeling pretty
the irony is that you were the alcohol
You were the intoxication in my body
that left me overdosed on your perfume
You were the feelings that I bottled up
in fear of spilling you out
You were the bitter sweet smell
that left my eyes staring into the blur
Was it the real or the fake?
Or should I have read in between the lines?

In ritualistic insanity, the amnesiac begins to wail.
He hears the symphonic tune of damnation.
A wicked chord struck on a lyre of bones.
As tears flow, the pain sharpens, his fingers split, adding thick crimson curdles to death's hymn.
The weight is bore, lightless eyes follow the ache of mortal fatigue.
This sad creature screams his terror, as he remember his ode.
Played from his own marrow, from his own calcified soul.

Time and time again
The hourglass shatters
I drown in the sand
My memory in tatters

And when I come to
I cannot remember
If reality is a ruse
Or if fate is being clever

Time is a blasphemy
A venomous oath
A losing eternity
Damning us both

Amnesia
That stretch of oblivion
That merciless prison
That curse the Goddess hath wrought on me
How I loathe it

Abandonment has made him looking for clues,
Fear to love and lose evolved into Pistanthrophobia...

The numbness and hollowness he felt in his aching heart,
Feeling like a dead corpse, going through analgia...

Facing his share of heartbreaks, been easily replaced,
His heart wishes nothing but to suffer from amnesia...

He now sits in the dark corner, battling his inner demons,
Thinking of the spent moments, going through nostalgia...

Like a firework
Life fades away into the night sky
We watch from far below
As we slowly lose control
Of our bodies and of our minds
I seem to have seen this a thousand times

The underbelly of the beast
Exposed
Is just more context
Tucked away
In looser corners of a mind
Void of lilac sunsets and
Airport poetry
And your belly
Hollowed out through the hips
By all those generic lovers
Doesn’t need more fundamentals
Only acid dreams of desert symmetry

Forget
         me
             not
                 flowers.
I arrange them everywhere.
On my bed,
       in my pillow case,
                               in vases,
                                    on windowsills.
I'm trying to remember
the girl I was before.
I'm not sure
           who I was
                                   when I was three,
or eight,
                                                  or twelve,
or sixteen.
                     Disappointing
                               my
parents,
                                                  friends
and teachers
                          is easy.
I'm more afraid that little me
would squint her eyes in disgust
at the sight of what I have become.
But I cannot seem to remember
who I was before.
My thoughts.
My skin.
My hair.
They're gone.
I struggle to collect the things I am
in a tidy bundle.
                 Forget-me-nots
                 cover my hands.
Yet I cannot remember.
                  I practice forgiveness
only
                                               in theory.
But could they forgive me?
I'd like to think they can.
But
           I am
                       unsure.
Yet does it matter?
Would it matter
             if     they    didn't?
Or would it be better
             if    they   didn't?
Forget
        me
           nots.
Forgive
          me
              nots.
Forgive
          me
             please.

Making memories,
wondering who sent for me,
if it wasn’t you then who was it,
and if you didn’t why are you here anyways,

have man have machine,
have real life have dream,
were you born or were you made,
there isn’t a difference or so it would seem,

you don’t believe,
because you’ve never seen a miracle,
that’s why you **** for a fee,
and why you’re always so cynical,

and maybe that’s why I write,
more than I do anything else,
as a way of trying to jog your memory,
while running up the bill,

at the bar trying to wash away,
things I can’t recall,
in this present day dystopia,
call me Jack I’ll call you Jill,

getting drowsy,
must be the pills,
on a plane,
going somewhere else,

travel some much,
sometimes i wake up and don’t know what country I’m in,
it’s a dog eat dog world so cat naps can be dangerous,
especially when you drink and drink sleep walking on Ambien,

a creature with amnesia and beautiful features,
how’d you become such a miracle,
are you really that perfect,
or is that just the way I remember you,

guess it doesn’t matter either way,
because maybe I don’t even remember you,
maybe you’re not mine because maybe you never were,
maybe nothing is mine not even the memories I have of you,

maybe it’s all just programmed,
by a woman behind a glass wall,
maybe in the end we have the same thing we had in the beginning,
which is absolutely nothing at all,

making memories,
wondering who sent for me,
if it wasn’t you then who was it,
and if you didn’t why are you here anyways…

∆ LaLux ∆