zebrasindenver

A packet of red gauloises,  a bottle of red wine,

a red dress, and a bloodied red nose,

a red couch against a red wall,

your red lips and a red sparrow,

An ex-wife of sorts.

Freedom is wild,

 pure and selfish.

And kind of expensive.

A black scar on the left hand,

A turquoise ring on the right,

A red shirt upon the chest,

and black jeans around two legs.

Green eyes and dark hair.

A black heart and a grey soul.

Abel to create this dark prose,

and at the same time be so full of love.

Funny.

I was driving to work today and was stopped at a red-light, an elderly woman rounded the corner and as she did so she spotted a cigarette butt on the ground, she picked it up with a kleenex from her pocket, assumedly with the intention of placing it in a trash can, somewhere.

As she continued, she looked down at the snow bank on the footpath, and upon noticing the million other cigarette butts that littered the street she threw the one that she had collected back on the street in defeat.

I find it a funny commentary on defeat, she had tried to make a difference, and in this little way she succeeded, but upon realizing the i guess ‘severity’ of what would need to be done to make a complete difference, she gave up.

Is it not better to make a tiny difference than none at all, we cannot look at the situation as a whole otherwise nothing would get done, as everything would seem to be always unsurmountable.

It was a weird moment that i will come back on it a bit.

Raw

Unfiltered

cigarettes and beer

and a cadmium sandwich.

And thats it, another book closed by my own two hands,

My own doing, undoing, my own chaos creation,

She can’t take my life and love and i can only dream of hers,

Another one i never even had chance to really love has broken me down for my ways that i wont change, cause this broken record skips and starts again,

Goodbye you, we’ll dance to the music that isn’t playing at the end of the night.

Oh and so run the tears like wine as i sit here writing my poems

like a dog with a pen shoved in its jowls trying to pick the locks of its cage,

There is no escape from these scribbling scratches that put together make the proses that turn hardened hearts to liquid that fill my cup,

The oyster battles the sea only to be opened by those that cannot hear nor see the suffering as it tries to guard its cage a whole,

But that you might see,

That i might let you peek through the bars but never let even a finger pass these bars, stand a ways away, these 32 teeth that long for your pale hide, hence these cages of dignity, monogamy, and honesty.

Goodnight now, lay down and lie next to him, to him.

Hard shell, soft heart,

Hardened heart, soft nature,

Let there be a mellange, mix the two child,

Your age is your enemy, grow a little,

Blend the two and create a whole, let it be not a lie,

Let it be real, let it be you.

So full of it all, nothing, and all and everything,

I am full of nothing, hate and love have no room,

I am just here and there is no room for you, leave me alone, stand alone and watch me fall, watch me drown and do not help me, for I cannot be saved as the water is too deep.

I hold out hands that want no others, here I am drowned lifeless and alone, but alone I will lie peaceful, with no questions and no demands, leave me here in a shallow grave of death, lies and worthless smiles, leave me to my gin and whiskey and stand afar, as the fumes of this passion will choke those that do stand close, I am lay-ed and alone and I am closer to you than your blankets of grief that will cover your naked soul.

Tonight let me die alone, with you, alone.

At peace, alone.

And so here we are, this is the point that we have been brought to, right now, we stand here face to face i can feel your warmth and you can smell the devil on my breath i am sure, i declare love, and you slap my face and i admit that i was wrong but not whole heartedly and the lie resonates in you and you hit me again.

The craziness that we deliver to each other and that the world sits watching and laughing, you need this trouble, you need to feed these demons of yours.

Six armed two headed beasts with no heart and teeth of razors, im building my own demons, big and bright and printed on paper from my own body, as i lay here covered in black.

This world might not be loud enough, but your screams are unsettling and give me no pleasure if you wont look me in the eyes, you hide under hot sheets and wake a ready monster, although softened, rounded and naked, what a beast, what a devil, what a siren.

Black eyed and dishevelled, i am the worst you say, and in truth i may be the greater monster, but as i seems to becoming apparent, a hardened beast with a heart somewhere, not on my sleeve but locked away, deep down covered in lies and pretty fabrics.