candlelit rooftops
and the stale smell of the last rain
maybe a few drops of grease touched water
dripping off the unused water tank
coating my white polo
leaving brown stains that i doubt i can rub away
but i lose my life
for those fractions of time
the smell of cheap store bought beer enters my nostrils
and maybe the stench of nostalgia
i wish i could dwell in moments of intoxication
but this separation driven repercussions
or maybe some complicated hallucinations
they're clogging up the space
i'd like to wish i'd find solace in the night air
and maybe smile underneath flying strands of my open hair
or at least shed a few tears
but then
what did I have to lose?
win-win situations and business deals
go astray all the time
isn't that what we were?
give and take?
i wish i had a little emotion
i wish it would feel like
like i were dying inside
but maybe it's the absence of human emotion
and then
all i encounter is baseless frustration.
i throw the empty bottle at the wall
look at the shards
and hold them close to my bosom
let them pierce my breasts and chest
it's not really the same, you know
bleeding hearts really are different.
and these empty definitions
they're worlds apart.
~d.s.
YOU ARE READING
Into The Black Hole
PoetrySometimes, pain becomes peace. Eureka! He's an oxymoron.It's been almost over eleven months; six months when it got way too critical, but I've been evolving and growing up out of it. It means much less to me now, and again, it keeps reminding me th...
