Feelings of exultation.
Why do we trust in the rhythm of our heartbeats?
Shall it implode,
it was nice to meet you.
Please pause while I write my desires for you on these overwrought walls.
The space where I held you close has become forebode of warmth.
A shadow of dense emotions.
I’m so tired of carrying these amorous words for you in silent solitude.
They’ve begun to crumble ‘neath the weight of my existence.
Bedside tears and the waning light of the old TV set.
Perched atop old, used notebooks containing vestiges from undisclosed eras.
Face held by tired hands.
Embattled through the years.
But my arms grow tired and nevermore resemble pillars of strength but legs of a funeral pyre.
Tired I may be.
Too tall for the noose.
Too shaken for the gun.
Skin too taut for a razor.
Natural selection is at play with the angels.
I’ve grown into the idea of withering.
Dreams respond to the changing of the method.
Yet I still remain terrified.
Afraid of your tears.
Afraid to erase your smile.
Can forgiveness be mine?
I would pine to take it with me through the ashes.
Past the bedrock.
And back up again through leaves of tepidness.
Shadows creep past my door.
My hands quiver under decades of tribulations.
Empty heart aches give new found definitions.
Clearly now you will not be on the other side of my door.
If I can muster the strength I will supersede the reasoning.
Distance between sinew and thought create disillusions.
Thousands of days without you.
When oceans meet…let us traverse!
The pain in my heart bellows throughout the room as I finally stalk towards the door.
Instinctively I cry.
The surprise of disappointment already cascading through my electrical impulses.
Water from the eyes,
Through much effort and innumerable amounts of grief,
I pierce the air of this room.
Door opened to an empty,
While remnants of past transgressions writhe inside.
Uninvited and without understanding.
I will leave it open.
Though for how long,
only the arms of our esoteric,
innate clocks are of knowledge.
funeral pyre primed.
I shall sit here in respite.
Inevitable is this finale.
Devalued are my thoughts.
I can only sit here and wait.
Commence my body to withstand whatever walks through the door that has been left ajar.
Until the day I can shade you with my leaves.
And bring you some form of truthful semblance–comfort.
These of which I wasn’t able to garnish while I wasted away my flesh.
But they were never on time to begin with.
– 1985 A.D.