Something I Once Wrote

I wrote this in September 2011.

it’s a golden hue, the night horizon that stretches out forever into darkness. shimmering lights, eyes of wine, eyes of dreams. autumn leaves, the scent of lovers in the chill air. it’ll be christmas soon, another wasted year, closer to death, flesh and bone into sand. my hand aches for that haunting ghost, with every gust of wind i see her on the sidewalk, my head a trembling mess of memories. scenes that flicker in my mind. she’s just a lonely girl, another soul that doesn’t belong. give me books and handjobs, sushi and drunken kisses. stairs that lead nowhere, doors that never open. a joke is never enough. pain is a simple thing when compared to lust. what we really wish and long for. it’s the hardest thing in the world, but also the easiest. you know you shouldn’t but you do it anyway. life is worth living after all. i wish the bombs would drop, blow up the cities and take out all those pricks that swim in the stream of pomposity. if they all died, then maybe the rest of us could run in the green fields and feel freedom as opposed to feeling lifeless. buildings for dead people, wombs as tombs, the wistful humming of hips shifting on sand. if they all disappeared i would find the release ive always yearned for. cracks in the pavement, churches on fire. there’s food in the fridge, so just eat it. if i moved my hands upon her thighs i would feel the love of ages vibrating though my fingers. the black holes, the unknown ways of god, i’m sure they exist in the ways of my desire. but do they exist in road-kill? beheadings and slit throats, mexican skinnings and killings? when we get past our own infatuations the truth is so less romanceful. where’s the love in necklacing? i don’t think love exists there. so maybe thank  god for my sorry little life, for i know i’d rather be boring than burn and taste blood, see flesh and bone explode like lovers joy. microwaved burgers, cigarette smoke through the eyes of the non-believers. through closed eyes and dust there is only one way. a secret episode, a thumb of blood from the back of my throat.

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