Knowing is a plague.
Quite heavy on the soul
While it's meant to be light, my love, lighter
Than a snowdrop, lighter than the thoughts of
The unborn.
You'd think it a great feat, learning how
To cause tremors as you stomp with
Your feet, ripples as high
As mountains with a touch of your
Promise finger, and it's true, but what you
Don't know is that chaos begets chaos and
A peaceful mind is such
A waste of the gift of suffering,
Time has shrouded yours with enough scar tissue, hasn't it ?
And now you roam the waste lands like a wounded
Beast, looking for someone to love
You
Madder than the last toy you broke while trying
To fix.
Does it heal your
Knuckles when you deliver blow after blow
With the cruel innocence of a child?
Does it please you when you snap the twigs and
Smother the roots, bury the seeds of rancor
Among the weeds you left to run wild ?
Does it soothe your restlessness
When you scrape their last spec of
Dignity off your boots, when their face becomes
Darker than the hidden side of the
Moist star, as you browse your collection of records,
"With what truth shall i hurt you tonight, sweet ?"
You hum, fingers bustling
The kinder the song, the sharper it cuts :
Poetic savagery
Poor things, when did you learn to hurt
People thus ?
They would
Bolt like the dwellers of the night at the flick
Of a light, because you
Stifle them, by knowing
You make love to
Their flaws and dance upon their
Nakedness, you make their darkness shrivel
Under the scoff of mockery
You smash their
Heads into the mirror of vigil, you
Push them into the abyss that they walk
Around and never dare look at "
Doesn't it look pretty ?
Do you eye your reflection ?
Doesn't it feel warm ?
Doesn't it smell bottomless?
Doesn't it seem a bit lonely, here,
Hold your
Breath, and delve
Doesn't it feel like home ?
