Tomorrow I will come home from work and you will ask how was my day. Drawing near and laying my head on your shoulder, I will say one of two things:
1. Just another day.
or
2. I saw a blade of grass extruding its life force through a fissure between an impenetrable concrete wall and the grit of an endless city. I've been reflecting on this and I can't decide whether that fragile shoot was growing towards apotheosis or annihilation.
Cycle Swings
And now it’s just water under the bridge
Or a bridge underwater
I can feel myself delving into the deep blue, trying to differentiate if I am falling from the sky or swimming to the surface
All of this wasted time has got to amount to something. All of these hollow fucks have got to mean something.
It’s the repetition of patterns. The patterns that are making me crazy.
As hard as I try to shift reality everything always comes back full circle.
Like the phases of the moon, like the shifting of the tides.
As hard as I try it always ends the same
As the cycle goes, the story goes along with it/ always ending and beginning at the same points
I’m trying to get better, I’m trying to break the chain, the more I try the more it hurts
But at least I know what to expect.
Cold
My mind leans straight with sharp dimensions
Watching intently the bleeding of the hour
Of his smile his cunning to easily destroy
Full conversation with eyes only
That winter night he lay me dead
I watch intently patiently I learn
He speaks in riddles promises of fire
What he doesn't know my secret
I give thanks for my souls demise
If I hadn't broken entirely
I would have never swallowed darkness
Now love dead holds no threat no fear
Logic my companion to complete calm
The choice to surrender was heavy in reflecting
The body suffocated on strings from separation
It withering sick pouring buckets of blood
Crying endless for attention like a child
But my heart was a filthy whore with jagged teeth
Never warning of the suffocation or pain
Mind crystallized clear in loves departure
I sit quietly and watch him maneuver
Material connection free from the yearning
He is more calculated now he stares silent
Loves whining shallow breath slipping like silk
Into final acceptance of death and dying
The heart strings break in an exorcism a shriek
He hears them snap he struggles silent on his guitar
The master has lost his favorite note
When she awakens in the morning
She passes the demon in the kitchen
The one that wears a mask like a human face
When she goes to school
She passes the monsters in the hall
The ones that have fake hearts made of lace
When she goes home
After classes are done
When day turns to noon
She thinks to herself
When born into darkness
Does one fear the moon?
When she gets home
She passes the demon in the bedroom
The one that rests on a bed made of gold
When she reaches her own room
She listens to the monster next door
The one that smiles but has a heart that is cold
When she lays on her bed
After the demons have been laid to rest
When noon turns to night
She thinks to herself
When born into darkness
Does one fear the light?
When these days turn into years
She still thinks to herself
The one question she's asked a hundred times
The question about the darkness, the fear
The moon, the night
And are her demons truly real, or are they just
a trick
of the
light?