Prelude to the unending
Another loud noise pierces the peaceful haste of the morning rush, towering skyscrapers glowing and glinting in the bright sunlight of a summer day, not long ago.
Fragments of a crystal glass, across the sidewalk. The familiar red fuel of dreams and flashbacks trickling slowly down the pavement, swept away only in memories I awaken, stunned at first, it's been such a long time since a vivid nightmare occurred in this crystal shattered mind. Looking down at my pale chest as I ascend to a leaning position on a mattress I think back on it. Not on the day, but everything in-between, the cracks in the pavement, the smiles drifting and muttering goodbyes in restful anticipation, the crying L-train, the wonderful speed at which millions of lives churned. The forest of human life in my eyes, I feel in doubt I am the only one on this planet that perceives the lustful hell of the city as quaint and comfortable, out here in the tame domestic villages surrounding me I am so confused, so bewildered by the fact that every facet of life that passes me will judge the way I look and feel. But in the city the difference is immeasurable and callous, only there can I attract a following, enjoy my time with friends, nearly forgotten amidst the ruin of my current life here in the far too safe towns I seem to be pulled towards. Maybe one day I'll get the pictures of me and you back out, maybe one day I won't cry at the thought of losing you, maybe one day I'll admit I was never planning on spending my life with you. But nonetheless I still miss you, just as any other human would. Somedays out here I think back on the face you used to make, or the sound of your laugh, and I fall into the pit again. Excessive drinking, excessive drugs, the wonderful feeling of self-destruction I so often miss, yet regret at the same time. I don't really think the drinking and the drugs was what I enjoyed about our labored time together, I think it was you, I really do miss the soft breaths you breathed next to me, the subtle twitching you so often did when trying to get comfortable on my chest. That's what I miss about the city really, not the twinkling buildings or the bustling life, you.
I miss you.
Often I think back to the day I lost you, I could have very well killed that man if I wanted to, I held that man by the throat, but I looked back over at you, your calm nature, your steady breath. I thought it would be a disservice to your memory, as us software geeks say, if you delete the source, the memory can't die.
If your memory died that day like you, if I would have descended into that madness that us starving artists usually do in a fit of rage. I wouldn't have returned from the slope. You know I would have stayed, partied, fucked, and mourned for years. Although I don't really have a reason to believe in an afterlife, or the paranormal, in a way. You saved me, and I am forever grateful out here, silent and subdued in the fields, where I can't lose control like I almost did that day.
If it had lasted any longer, I would have fallen in love with you.
Rest in piece knowing I continue on with a fragment of the glass you left inside me, and carry on to whatever palace in the sky we all must be floating to eventually.
You deserve nothing less,
Soft hands tracing the skin on my chest
Alive In Despair
A cliché word
used without thought
a scribble on paper
a scar under hair
often hidden within words
but never by itself
despair is a word that could never hold onto itself, always someone else
in between the lines
and across this faded green field
my oceans and skies glisten in the tide
those eyes look up
but nothing is revealed
you know, I never went to your funeral
but I drove by your house,
and I approached the window
quiet as a mouse
and I swear to god I saw you in there
but I was looking at my self
ordering a pizza
silently speaking "everything will be answered one day".
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This poem is for a dear friend I lost last summer to a series of unfortunate events, and this poem will live on to preserve her memory until the servers collapse or the bombs detonate. Even then, I wrote this on a piece of paper and discarded it into Michigan Lake, I have eternally scarred this planet with my grief, and now I wait.