You've
Been
Drifting like
A Worth-y lonely
Cloud of cream, on the
Rim of my vanilla consciousness. The sluice gates
Open often, I'll admit, and
And you slip
In, riding
A
Song.
The
Light
Is fading,
And the words
Are confetti. Your touch still
Lingers like a melting snowflake underneath the
Skin of my fingers; your
Slender gazelles to
My rough,
Heavy
Bears.
The
Light
Is souring,
And the words
Are beautiful. Our hands
entwined
Like breathless vines; or were those our febrile
Trembling tendrils of thought, whispering,
On the sun-washed
Lawns, for
The
Squirrels?
The
Light
Is rancid,
And the words
Are old. I shall soon
Be a ghost in the mansions of your
Mind. You shall exist as
An Idea, in
Mine; haunt
Me
Occasionally.
This
Sadness
Is immovable.
It exists. It cannot be
Gouged out. It shall linger as a fact
Of my existence, shall hang
From my neck;
Like a
Necklace
Doesn't.
Let
Me
Forget everything.
Give me sleep.
Give me the guillotine of
Novocain. Let me float free. Like a bird,
Or a goldfish, or an
Amoeba. You've left
Fingerprints on
My
Soul.
I'm
Tired
Of feeling.
Tired of emotion.
Give me numbness. Let me
Forget your coffee eyes, your nervous hair, and
How they used to sprinkle
Out from behind
Your shadowy
Uncertain
Ears.
Fools.
Liars.
Get over
It, they say.
Exorcise the pain, they say.
But sadness cannot be washed away. It can
Only be forgotten. The paroxysm-ing
Pain congeals into
Scabs, to
Bleed
Later,
Lubricated
By
Lubricious liquid.
The wounds are
Covered over by the dusty
Bandages of brown routine. Too much I'm leaving;
Love, and opportunities of it.
…
Time and sleep
Will heal;
Hopefully
Enough.
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