when I have stared into his.
Firmly grasping the concept of,
Leo. "We do kinda look like lions"
--said a good friend.
On the final stair well step
my heart yanked a soliloquy:
The three types of blood come to me young.
Sometimes one, sometimes another.
But never all at the single stroke of the clock.
More importantly, when a trust and interest was given
a soul was broken. Tears began to drip, drop.
I stared into his eyes for the one last time:
a time I thought was love, until it lied.
A lie that transfigures the purity of water
into the tears of blood.
For each drip that drops my heart beats
one blood less. Until I know it
I indefinitely would have died of an empty heart.
Crying for someone who does not love me.
Said.
The things we say
also ricochet. Like a party game
that pins the tail on the ass. Random.
We don't know what we want,
unless we say what we think we want
while our eyes well up, red, irritated.
Signs we walk the shaky bridge for only one
of two choices--jump
--or meander through, blinded by blood.
Too long I have been blinded by blood.
Never wanting to jump, nor will I ever.
We never would have known the good in life
unless it slowly kills us, giving us a ray of hope.
A beautiful flower to kiss upon.
Said.
I have a friend who wants to be your age
--he said one night. Indeed, I know
so it would exemplify an easy path to love me.
He wont, and so will you. I can imagine you
ending up just like him. Wishing.
Timing in life is tricky. But when will we be in our right minds
to truly be among the lines when we say "Fuck it", and do as we please.
Not minding society, our second brain, and the tragic loop we call: currency.
Our hearts are too shy, its a tragedy, most of us never will.
I knew from his turn't face. Eyes dropped asunder.
I never knew what happened, nor I ever will.
Said.
The things he said, and should never have said.
I seen it in his face. All he won't say, anymore.
I know it be true when all the mysterious events lead up
when he won't even look into my eyes when I say, hello!
You aren't hiding anything, anymore.
I wish he answer me this. Why is it I don't exist.
There is no such thing as a fake fire. Previous flame.
The heated intensity of a hot core. Indeed I burn here today.
My fire continues to rage on. Conquering.
How much do I need to exist for you to feel the wind.
The wind of my soul, that need only know good.
Oh, I exist. And I soon will show, my windy soul is all
you ever want--need. As for now, I turn away,
just as you do. Drunk happy with my crew of 30-somethings
Proven that the tears of blood do dry, but I wipe them clean
to a cleaner perspective. Evaporated by my flame.
Said
It is said that many candles can be lit from a single candle.
For happiness can never diminish from spreading its joy.
A simple word many seek. Others can't embrace.
You can't quietly say you won't notice my flame.
Because now, it is your eyes that cry blood.
No comments:
Post a Comment