A pulse is writhing. It hollows from inside, and reaches the darkness outside. It boils on my skin, spurting blood in the air; infecting the night. Corruption throbs and spills from my guts. More, more, and still more. The guilt fascinates me. It encloses me into its familiar comfort. Jump, run, fall. Do something. Pouring idle thoughts on crutches of leisure is a consuming hobby. Once you're addicted, you can't stand up. Is it a tragedy to not belong anywhere?
I could have been your shiver,
could have been your luck,
I could have been the signpost,
on the highway to your home.
I could have been the sugar,
in your morning tea,
I could have been the sun,
in your yard growing trees.
I could have been the bubblegum,
sitting on your tongue,
I could have been the sweater,
that you never wore.
I could have been the music,
that plays across your street,
I could have been the dew,
could have been it true.
I could have been a stranger,
could have been a face,
I could have been something,
anything but this.
This pavement,
this grime,
mate in wild agonies,
to ferment hope.
These people,
their sweat.
For infinite asphalt,
some lives are meant.
These insomnic lights,
this snarling tide.
These naked rocks don't stand a chance,
they crumble and fall, in the helpless night.
This deceiving moon,
this black sky swallows.
The lonely star,
glooms at the horizon's dark shadows.
This pagan spleen,
tethers on a melting rope.
Of daisies and fairies,
that love once spoke.
Time will move,
and I will be damned.
But this sand, this wetness, this eternal struggle,
will remain a legacy of the land.
She.
Moans like a girl,
Moves like a lady,
broods like a saint,
but breaks like a woman.
She looks away,
and I stare.
I smile,
and she knows.
I think,
but she says,
I listen,
and she has her way.
She breathes,
I stay awake.
The ink flows,
and the dawn breaks.
It's an open sea,
and the quest for a sign.
She'd light a candle,
but there's too much moonlight in our eyes.
We wait for something,
to happen astray,
but don't we forget,
tomorrow comes today.
Jack has a gun.
He shot himself everyday.
woe, irony and loss in his barrel.
He has a quick hand.
He is still a boy,
has delusions of romantic grief.
He does have other thoughts,
in the grander scheme of things.
He can' be beaten on his day,
he is a showman,
he pulls out the gun,
and shoots the world down.
His smile has the razor's edge.
He jumps out the window,
lands square on his cigarette.
Tips his hat for those who love him,
and rides his horse to the sun in the distance.
Today is different,
he will always be a boy,
His grin meanwhile,
is here to stay.
And then,
you find,
what you want,
in front of you.
And that grisly hollowness approaches,
for the first time,
Loss is at hand.
Respect,
is lost.
Love,
never meant for me.
Who is in my thoughts,
prefers another,
I never knew what that meant.
Now, devil; leave the others,
take me with you.
I am a vessel,
of sorrow,
I am taken along,
but given nothing in return.
What is mine,
I cannot own,
the paths are crossed,
for a brief journey of lost hope.
The tears,
that trickled for me once,
are not mine anymore.
Where there should be envy,
is a raging calm.
I dreamed of a ride,
where everything would be left behind,
I dreamt alone.
I lived it alone.
Now, I must lose the dream alone.
And the night is over,
there is no sound,
no bells chiming,
no skipping heartbeats.
The breeze is dry,
I leave behind,
Fading footsteps,
and a sense of loss.
And this world will end,
this muck,
hopes, dashed.
failures, smile.
Despair never ends.
This quicksand earth,
these heightened ambitions,
I am not a man,
I was never man enough,
To deal with triumph.
You people,
leave a corpse be,
you've played with my dreams,
you've demanded more than I am,
I'm already dead.
And you,
who showed me what never was,
you'll leave me,
and join your promised land,
But before you do,
Give me a gun,
and I'll shoot what's left of my paradise.
I should've never been here,
I should've never dreamed,
I should've burned my world,
before it gave me a reason to be.
Rebel, of poems,
Castrated, of my half a life.
I prance around, with delusions of sophistication,
Impotent a man, with no purpose to be.
I'll shine a light,
on my silence,
I'll revisit my weakness,
sit on the floor,
and do nothing.
Work escapes me,
responsibilities avoid me,
pain mocks me,
I chase a rainbow,
made of dirt, blood and slime.
I came alone,
I tread alone,
This world will end,
Sail on sailor,
Defeat awaits on the shore.
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