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.
