the heat of tension is getting away

the beat of clocking days has taken the bow

of conflict we know little for spoken words are a vine

dancing at ease by the river door: we listen, taken at the arm

at length we look afar and wide, never, at one another

eating crumbs bespoken, quietly, everyday feels exactly that

no, it was not my comprehension I hiss 

but who has ever asked for my permission? 

a golden chance has flown out of bounds

crashing at the barrier of my fringed reasoning

kept in chains, never far away

it is not that I do not wish to speak

I find myself contradicted for I have nothing left to say:

"No way divides the victim (It rips away)

I didn't ask for your permission (We connect with something anyway)"

 

guardian angel

 is it a crime to conceal a cry in a whisper 

to recognize a ghost as oneself in angel dust

silence has killed the messenger at gunpoint

by the door, a bloody alleyway of distant affairs

where maggots crawl undetected in alarming signs

"I done it, I done it, it was me", said no One.

Not one living soul: remainders, simple math in fact

my confession is a defection that courts my beloved's skirt

or so I hang on, dragging on an empty coffin that grins bored shitless

guts ran dry, a foul mood kills the Sun with one eye on my guardian angel

the mere sight a branding revitalized transfixed, running anew the chilling verse

as eyesight interconnect the butterflies take flight as my whisper embraces death

I appreciate it is not for want of rescuing the need to behold your soul

but a lonely hunger that compels me to march towards my last breath

and the firm believe I might not sustain another blow might the bells not play 

so clear? a chant so fluent the fingers alone could match their lovely echoes

venom frothing from pores, I can already tell the reaction

my coffee, my obsession, my taste decays as the zooming in intensifies

we can afford to get like this every year, to rediscover we are on our fucking own

it is when the blade dulls and the breath shortens that they return for the twin wing

for I too am extremely humble and honest in equal scale, the flaws polished by the rain

I bargain a great discount at large, chop me up and eat my Heart

just nibble slowly at my Humanity for in empathy there is no turning back,

face expressions blurring used to cause me a mighty fright, 

petrified that I could not differ

Vampire from

 -turned backs

insignificant when silence and sound are no longer in the room

-mangled heart

"did you like it? I think I like you."

odd be that rain, to me, is a sensorial time machine

rude as fuck because it does not ask for permission

since my guardian angel has died.

seeing we feel this way

 biting frost licks our chops in waves

bittersweet poison refreshing a state of paralysis

need to make a call now: 'may I speak with God?'

soaked anyway, burning at the crux of this irony

would have been ashen, shortcomings

trust me for it has happened before,

no?

seeing we feel this way, pushed against the ropes

looking instead of listening, coping instead of asking

'how you been, where you heading looking so damm lonely?'

shaken to the core but never showin', sister I do not understand

how those words can break a full-fletch man down

is it hubris my undoing, is it trust in the process, was time my mortal enemy?

has the hour been? did I miss the current? am I under a fucking spell which will not bend

to my requests, no tutorial nor guidance in what is sudden and surely not my darkest hour

for dusk is solemn in fairness and sold short, 

coal for riches, gold for the hungry and the poor:

is dignity overrated in this bright new world of screens, fake smiles and selfies?

is a truer word side by touch for warmth exchange a caress not fueled by instinct

anymore necessarily than an algorism dysfunction can decode what's clouding our purpose

to define how to best display disaffections, I refuse to acknowledge 

where we are heading, what is a man to machine

if this be the shore that we came upon.