nothing to conceal if I do not believe I have turned into a *sham sort'a people

I wish I felt the warmth of love

the suggestion of surrender

the confort of being understood

not because I do not have such nice pleasantries

no joy survives the erosion of denial by the betrayal of not believing

what you know or should have known (better in the past, surely darling)

 

For those reproach

If I do not go that's my fault, that's a fact eh?

Do allow me to be in the wrong and concede me the opportunity

To slowly get out of this situation

Don't face a man getting older succumbing to temptation 

to trust the leap before he could reach for what's unseen.

__________________________________________________________

Malady a state of being

how foolish of me

A sight of raw disconfort, pouring unearth

Undead, bent and awash with rain breaking it down

Above water, slippery dreamcatcher

capturing words unspoken that ring hurtly true

Setting alarms loathed and quite problematic

deadly by design and my heartstrings part of the canvas

Irritating, damm allergies come alive

A bad melody stuck on repeat

Loop and round you and me reflection

of hacking at what's close and dear

Venture a fragile familiar routine

A to B passing cliffts and clouds towards dying

Feet firmly on pavement on an incline, necessary ascension

Complaining borrows weight off my venomous veins

Ethanol an interaction facilitator, can't boil high enough

Gaze, stare, generate a spark by willpower (or dynamite)

One can wander, dream, implode:

Love spewed outwards

Clicking the wrong tune, permeating the skin

the ground, the very earth that serves Finite

Humble, sustaining the burden

Of the continuum at ample depth

Ants and giants thread different sights

Soon to discover a blood trail shining blue

May us turn to bone dust and dissolve gently father.

___________________________________________________________________

A weapon does not grant more safety

than rules cut vice, sin and grandeur

In days, weeks and years invested in the imprisonment 

of both good and worse (off) men (mostly)

Taint this river red with the cruel realization

Of faithless flesh, worn off instincts and little to gamble for

 

for those above reproach

in the colder nights

If I do not go that's my fault, is that a fact?

Do allow me to the in the wrong and concede me no sympathy

To grief the earning of responsability of running into a wall

nose bloody, all sorts of aching and a pulsing sense of relief

Face first and turned blue with fear of what's to come (so petty)

be it divine or hellish torment hold your words wisely

Puzzling to hold dear this space: Silence

To embrace what's to come, disconfort routine

I shan't forget nor forgive

I allow my betters that gracious grace and hold spite

in raw undeniable amazement.