Clinging To Beauty And Despair

Shedding skin and cracked teeth. The things you see on the streets, and the horrors of first light. The parade of carcass’s, attracting flies and lying eyes. It drains me to breathe the same air as them, to go through the motions of such banality. To pretend that it’s worthwhile and that the days have meaning somehow. There has to be more than watching everyone swallow themselves. Watching them dissolving their insides in the name of existence. Their lives have no magic, no substance worth speaking of. Just repeat ad nauseam. Forever and always until the clock ticks no more. Got to find a way out. Got to cling to something beautiful, something soft. Take me away from here and fill me with sunshine. Place your fingers in mine, and if only for a while, let us turn our backs on the world. All the lowly souls, breaking apart with ease; snuffed out by impulse and useless desire. Insects buzzing amongst broken glass and cigarette butts. Reeking of booze and slow suicide. Clawing at passers by, their nails break and fall into the gutter. There are no stairways to heaven here, only spirals that lead to the jaws of hell. And trapdoors, don’t forget about them. As the fumes of lust and sin overwhelm with the coming of summer sun, so many fall unable to escape.

Stood with my back to all those who wish me harm, I bow down and ask to be shown the way. Cleanse me of impurities, and bathe me in truth. Give me to the one who’ll wrap me in blankets and take me someplace safe. In the arms of a lover. In dreams and fantasy, the coming of life, and the birth of future. Recovery and salvation etched into her pale skin. She’s monolithic, a stained glass window, reflecting light thousands of times over. Pressing her hand against my forehead, I’m absolved of shame. I never meant to be like this; it’s just the way things happened. Infinity land. Here, there, and everywhere. Infecting and separating (the skulls of all the weak). As natural as gravestones, and porcelain skin. Both living and dead, the shadow of beauty hanging all dismal and false. No direction towards bleeding hearts, and no temporal lobes ready to explode. Only dried blood on the passenger’s side, with footsteps trailing away like all those yesterdays. The secrets of his past left dangling in the wind. Blowing like gunshots, and popping like eardrums. The signature of my hands, and the relics of my love. She saved me once, and maybe she’ll do it again. Got to get back to where I belong. The land of my mother tongue where it storms eternally. The wonders of her mind, pouring in the rain, and flooding the lake once more.

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6 replies »

  1. You have a beautiful mind. It’s almost more of an experience reading your writes. Abstract and understood on a level deeper than logic.

    I dig it.

    • Thank you, that means a lot to me. I really appreciate it. I’m happy my writing makes you feel that way. Sometimes I wonder if people will understand what I’m going on about, but I’m glad you do 🙂

  2. I feel what you write with an intensity of vivid imagery and emotion … for example, the lines, “As natural as gravestones, and porcelain skin. Both living and dead, the shadow of beauty hanging all dismal and false. No direction towards bleeding hearts, and no temporal lobes ready to explode,” immediately made me think of the aftermath of a violent crime and then standing for 7 hours in the Midtown North NYPD Station … what had she looked like before the car hit her? What were the license plate numbers? What color was the car? It was all dismal and false, with the shadow of a beautiful dress and what was clearly a beautiful face … the ambulance like the bleeding heart. I’ll stop now.

    But you are a wizard and your writing hits me right in the gut.

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