In order to
make it so
First be able
to see it
Dont title this
turn stacks of freeverse
into ink that
over the fucking floor.
dying to get a turn to spew out sobs
its quite pathetic
unworthy of tonight's
All the rest before that
Maybe after that
Its all related to words that are home to its relative.
Blood began with boasts of bawdy bases of bastard boys.
Boyfriends were never written in word.
So why bear a burden with you, boy?
bake me back.
Make me OD
What you refused from me
What we never let free.
Shall we step outside for a swim
in this ocean of artificial light?
Aren’t the lamppost legions lining the streets
the bioluminescence of the night?
Shall we take a stroll through the gardens,
through the forest of wire and twisted metal,
and admire how the cool autumn winds
waltz with these polythene petals?
The old and the new are already married,
Tied to the mast of time’s great voyager.
And beneath their most brilliant disguise
Lies the truest and most perfect reflection.
What does it matter in the sagas and songs
If now there’s a tower where once a tree stood?
A tree is nothing but a pillar of bark
Their lofty branches, girders of wood.
The grey and the green, the towers and trees,
Former is shunned, yet the latter is lost.
Hemlock and arsenic both send you down
And of granite and concrete, are either so soft?
Time marches on and leaves no-one behind.
It’s the ceaseless march of all of mankind.
If the end seems impending, and the path draped in black
To the darkness you go, there is no turning back.
This pilgrimage is a bitter prescription
And our sour rejection is sorely reflected
that legacies past are lauded and loved
While modernity’s beauty lies cold and neglected.
On the railway tracks we are hurtling down
Laid each day by the hands of history
We cannot turn back or regret our mistakes
Or the careless advances we were perceived to make.
While we grasp at the memories, and skeletal remains,
With our rueful yearning that's becoming so desperate
The fact remains, ‘till the end of our days
There's no better, or worse, there is only different.
There is no behind, there is only beyond.
The passing of past lays the road for the new.
There's a moment
where you wish
you could just press rewind
It was just five seconds ago that you said that
It was just a minute ago when you dropped that
and you can remember it in your hands
or the words trapped behind your teeth
and you would give anything to just try and fix it
just a moment ago you could have turned the wheel
just a second ago you could have just fallen the fuck asleep and let it alone
you took the plunge and there's no rewind
there's no going back
and the past is the past
fourteen days doesnt seem like much
at least not to someone whos never had the touch
never felt the pain of loss or surrenidy through themselves not another
never delt the shame or inevidability threw themselves down without a mother
it hurts but theres a way to the end they tell you
it hurts but theres another day to spend and embell you
you dont need this you need to stop
you dont bleed this you need to stop
this isnt you it isnt who you are
just shut up and get in the car
another day hiding in the shadow knowing they see you hurt
no other way subsiding in the shallow glowing in the sea you burnt
another night another thought it'll stop it'll die
yeah another travesty another lie
out again to chase the "dream" in the hours
in doubt again erase the dream im in dowers
slurring and swirving drowning in perfection
blurring the deserving and frowning at the reflection
abe to see it but not abe to know it is pain
sitting alone to remanice in the rain
i hurt her i couldve killed her
if it werent her i wouldve killed in a blur
shaking with the pain another drink down the hatch
quaking in shame another brink of the patch
yeah right another glimpse of the light i can get out
soon locked away with no way out
theres more i may never say
yeah fourteen days isnt much
fourteen days is no pride especially for somone who lied
fourteen days is where i am and its where i will be id like to think
i pray to "god" not to pick up another drink
“You miss 100% of the shots that you don't take.”
is a piece of wisdom that hits me loudly like a gunshot.
When I look into the fountain of my memories,
it's not blur water but pretty clear
that most of the stupidest things I ever did
were not the ones that actually happened.
They are the ones that I missed to pull the trigger.
Thus, they only happened in my minds' vivid fantasies.
Which make it seem so so real:
As if I could feel the touch of the loved one
who needed my hug and I didn't give it.
As I I could hear the words of apology
that were not even spoken in silence.
As if I could see the scenario that has never happened
and still waits for a true witness.
I make a guess,
it's part of life to miss some of the non-missed shots
where I still have the bullets for.
But from now on,
I take it in my hands.
Forget the bow or pistole,
give me the bazooka.
I am not scared of shooting for the stars any more
because of scarcity of bullets.
I know by now..
where the ammunition is.
The candle is almost at its end..
A once bouncing flame atop its mountain.
Now sputters for life.
Grasping at anything to just remain.
It seemed the more hands that would come and shield.
The faster the wax walls would cascade down.
To watch something so beautiful.
Feeding on the life force of anything it came into contact with.
Justifying the actions to build such a elaborate facade.
The creator is held by its deception.
Cultivating flaws as if it needed some appraisal.
But in the end just lacked approval.
Washing hands in the same water the idea was brought to drown.
Whispering sweet nothings to sooth a mind hemoraging.
But when it was the same hand that inflicted the wound.
Will this game truly turn rampant.
So long as there is a die to be cast.
The possibility of loaded questions commemorate the stacked odds.
For when the turn comes.
And the die are no longer an option.
The board glides away.
If that will be that, then
breathe it while it lasts.
We could have grabbed
each others' hands and
stretched our existence,
turned time's fabric to
our bed and blanket,
but this is it, as I feel your
sweat and sweet breath I
prepare to feel the repeat
sequence, I repeat it
The empty smile
spreads cheek to
She's beside me in
splendid silence, I
my regret over driving
such high speeds, when
I know for a fact, the road
and its changeless dangers
to her saintly, sleeping form.