its lights are on
glowing dimly
like an abandoned parking lot

the concrete
dappled with
cigarettes
pebbles
people
stones
cigarettes

the sign still says they're open
we all know they're closed
they just don't want to tell us yet

~
Where there used to be trees,
but is now a causeway
under the Lord's nose,
reside a constant tourist and his wife
who have all they ever wanted,
light and lure.

They swim in a pool
on the dangling homestar,
overlooking metal decay,
she pinches his cheek,
he smacks her bottom,
summer in Gotham
is now upon them,
gifting different things:
he sees mystery lights endeavor,
she sees herself a dragonfly
on the lure.

Monday thru Friday
they like to ride
the elevator of their love,
up and down it goes along a focal point,
out of him and into her,
when the door closes
they come together,
when the door opens
it lets in the tide of loneliness
and they begin to push buttons.

They dislike home
and its constant secrets,
what she wears is for him,
but less is more,
he invades her often,
but she's become a empty field,
theirs is Neptune's bedroom,
if they don't find
a reason to make love,
they will stay up all night
until irritable frozen creatures.

Invictus interruptus,
with the luck of the draw
they play dangerous days:
a game of blindfolds
and snowmobiles,
a game of hammers
and nails.

The plane of their lust
hunts the morning light
on gloomy Sunday,
the rain wets their hair,
the sidewalk creates a song:
electric skylark,
they dance out of focus,
he grasps her hips,
she makes a beautiful sound,
caught by magic,
trapped by photographic memory
and numbered doors.

Light and lure.
All anomalies.

Sublimation will not return
until the day of the focal point,
in the city where they have
all they ever wanted,
yet here they have nothing
more than microcosm,
the rest is distraction.

Maybe they should
remain a constant.

Maybe he should
just hold her.

Maybe she should
just let herself be held.
~

It began in just a normal year, only two decades too late,
And it ended before it got to start, it must've been fate
And I know, how you'd like to feel when you walk hastily down the street
Look both sides, up and down as you tremble in your feet
We both hated this world, with the heart we claimed to lack,
That's the only thing that didn't change, as we went to turn our back
We both got what we wanted, it just happened to be none
So why doubt myself, I've done what I've done.
I could never really feel what they’d like to call as pain,
Light and dark, oh ***** all that, I could only see chains.
So I write to you, you know not because I'm sad,
Or happy for that matter, unless I have gone mad.
I don't write either, because I miss the thought of you
Why I write to you, my dear, oh only if I knew
Still tell me how much time it takes for your, one day to pass?
In the clouds what shapes you see, as you lay alone in the grass?
How many times have you quit smoking, since we last spoke?
And how many meals are left in you, before you’ll get broke?
Did you finish the novel you wished to write since you were fifteen?
Or do you still space out, whenever you stare deep into your screen?
Do you still wake up late at night, yelling in your dreams?
Answering the wretched questions you heard in your father's screams.
Do you still need me to comfort you, and tell you, he was wrong,
And replace all his silence with my cheap makeshift songs.
As for me, if you care to ask, it is going exactly how you'd think.
I stopped evolving long ago, existing in just the missing link
Between a man, and what you may call, a tattered lost ghost.
3 A.M, closed window and the smell of burning toast.
As coherent as I try to be, I still remain who I am
A broken car on an empty road, stuck in a traffic jam.
Yes I still blame myself, for the faults of the outside world,
As I stare blankly at the night, with my hair in a slight twirl,
And I still have allergies of anything slightly from the past,
I don't look both ways when crossing the road, and I walk a bit too fast
So what else, did I not have to say? i said nothing with all these lines,
Like a dead star, from far away, which for you still somehow shines.
So let me say sorry at first, for everything you don't feel,
When we meet in our next life, I’ll be owing you a meal
Until then, I'll just be a shadow on your wall, 3 past midnight
When the only light in your room is from a broken streetlight.