The wrong decisions, never
portending existence, the pain you give; a town filled with laughter, a man
crawling, the dung smells sweet; running backwards, fueled for losing, to have
won a privilege.
A soul feeling
sadness, ignoring the obvious, with one neither love nor hate, neither kiss nor
poison, so infectious, as it wavers from light to darkness, upon a whisper.
They can’t leave
it alone, they need it to crumble, it neither tries nor denies, it just is;
something tender, those vocals, as singing to win, a town learning to see
itself.
A sad song, a TKO, running into
water; shocked to love, never believed it wins, with many sacrificing soul,
art, with angst bleeding; trying to control it, losing my grip, too vulnerable
to feel comforts.
Love woops the whip, so many
private deaths, to receive all he needs, with Love begging her heart.
I slept a week, neither did I eat,
longing for mystery, joys, sorrows, and forgot to ask favor.
I
was at a creek, deep inside, wondering if it’s different in the islands;
needing to say perfection, needing to reach soul, while too forgetful to adore
winning; if it was as advertised, some great product, so significant, so lost,
so in love, those anxieties to rest, bodies clashing, the sun inverted and
begging for baptism.
Lord
Knows!
I
never took it literally. I thought it passing fancy. Something in a moment
fraught by earnest wishes. To mean it in that second, to hit a corner, to sense
a connection, so fleeting, so remarkable, to let go, to hold tightly, to die
and live again.
Flying was made a curse. Longing
was made a feeling. Emotion churning a sip, wine-stained lips, looking bashful.
The noise in souls, it distracts
the atmosphere, keeping company, for it hurts to be wishing—so alone, so
crowded, one asks questions.
