i am the uneven eyeliner on the face of life

i think your scars are pretty.
i know,
they are meant to reflect pain,
or suffering,
or both.
but i cant stop looking at them,
and seeing how much beauty,
they add to your skin.

.
There’s an ancient duct tape patched
roller suitcase still up in the attic,
scarred by sky miles and undiscerning
indifference;  it came to rest like a final breath
exhaled at the end of the long road ―

In the dusty rafters of silent repose  
the death of an alter-ego comes to life
and jars and jogs the  sleeping dogs 
that lay benign as a pothole riddled road

Holding onto memories buried alive,
hidden away remembered ― 
      sans wings to fly away
laid bare unweighed with the weight
of everything else garnered and saved
      subsisting in a shallow grave;
hoarded and hidden away breathing
locked up with the other baggage borne
       behind tired eyes

Feeling the ache of blood stained knees
falling down sullied at the side of the road
Hindsight and a roll of duct taped memories
linger;   stuck to the  grey bandage scars,
second guessing should have thrown out
with the permanently temporary
fading plasticized luggage name-tags
back when I was still close enough to care;
too many miles to reconsider  ago

Some say: "it's the journey not the destination"                                    .
Some day when its too late we'll know
Some day it will be too late to make amends
        for everything i could not be ...


           harlon rivers ... 07  06  2018

I'm only human
I might make the same mistakes
Nobody's perfect.

If this is love,
I want no part in it.
The
         b
            e
               t
                  r
                     a
                        y
                           a
                              l,
                                    the lies,
                                                 the pain,
                                                               the truth.
If this is you,
I want to forget us.
Our
         m
            e
              m
                 o
                     r
                        i
                          e
                             s,
                                 our secrets,
                                                   our trust,
                                                                  our imperfections.

                          will i be able              to love again?
                      if                       i can,                   will
                       i                         be                     able
                        to                                              see
                         when                                       the
                           end                                       is
                              coming?                          if
                                   you                     were
                                      like             this,
                                          will     he
                                                 be
                                           like      you
                                     too?                if
                                 our                       love
                             went                            down
                           this                                    fast,
                        will                                          my
                      next                                             one
                      be                        the                    same?
                         if                    this is                how
                               all love is,           is any of it

                                             true love?

She’s
perfect
like the moon,
breathtakingly
mesmerizing that,
you can easily overlook
the imperfections in her.
She makes you want to fall in love
with her over and over again;
until the last breath followed by endless void.