It’s in Your Style of Beauty

It’s down all those streets you had long since forgotten. It’s in the trees that called your secret name so many years ago. There’s no reason to fear all that has passed, just take a peek inside, and see what you find. Some buildings remain the same, whilst others have crumbled. Some relics have long since slipped out of view, whilst others stand firm in the face of timeless time. I see you amidst the crowds, and try to trace your beauty down onto paper. I see it flooding back after all that has happened, and try to picture you as you once were. The puzzle of flesh and bone. Mind, body, and soul, swimming in a drunken sea of alcohol. The bodies that dance beneath fleshing lights try so hard to tempt, but they’re just as empty as before. It’s in the corners of a room you hadn’t thought about since you were last there. It’s in the fields of burnt grass and swans that remind you of what it was like buried beneath three feet of snow. Euphoria and beauty. Tragedy and sadness as the moon passes before the sun, and every bland day you can ever remember quietly drifts off as if they never even existed. All those pointless words. All those pointless conquests. So ready and willing for another, yet you don’t even care if they remember your name. Smashed to pieces, your little heart isn’t fine, yet with lipstick and foundation no one would ever notice. Behind flirting and industrial cleavage, they could never tell that you’re just as empty as before. It’s not too late to realise. It’s never too far gone to be reclaimed. Tomorrow born from yesterday. Highs rising from the lows, and lows following highs that you can barely recall whilst waiting for some other man to stuff himself inside of you. Self disgust and self neglect as the leaves fall upon your weary head. Behind closed eyes, those dreams of happiness shimmer despite all the shit that’s been shovelled, and in that heart of yours still burns a fire not yet extinguished. It’s in your style of beauty, and all those mantras you silently say under your breath before you ready yourself for the next fall. Those bubbles were always meant to be burst, yet the feelings you had inside were meant to last forever. If they’ve become lost, then go find them. Let them make you feel how you’ve longed to feel for so many countless, calender days. Speak wine and truth. Kiss the night sky, and breathe me like I breathe you. To taste from your mouth, and to feel inside what has ached to be felt since before the great depression. No such thing as a broken dream. No such thing as a lost page.

9 replies »

  1. You’re very talented, Sir. This is my first article that I have read from your mind’s library, and it will not be the last. Stay motivated and disciplined within your writing, please.

    -NN

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