Monday, November 11, 2013

So, Why do I Write?

We disintegrate, in the smoke of your cigar.
We fall apart with my cold shoulder.
You embrace me, and I shrug.
You kneel before me,
I try to smile.

Inside me I feel the stone lifted,
With my independence,
But a greater hollow,
As you leave my side
After a kiss at night.

My body aches and it’s not a drowsy numbness,
The nightingale’s dead.
We cling to rhythm, to poetry, to pseudo-aesthetics
In our hearts we break into pieces as we breathe.

Is it me, or do you feel it too?
Layers of masks and faces,
Layers within me, layers I keep with you too.
I assured you transparency,
And I feel failing miserably.

My dreams I can’t find anymore.
I live in the moment, to you as I swore.
I block the past, the future,
I look at the present, for your sake.

The bleak tomorrow, the blotched last night –
I ignore them; and so I write.

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