No one Gives a Damn

No One Gives a Damn about Stars

Broken.
How wild and chilling it should insinuate,
Yet, fragments of a former self are made cliche,
silencing the desperately message.

Crafted to be divergent,
Balance once weighed more than an ounce;
Wants once hunted the rust that rushed to
Break myself apart;
"Must" once a religious dogma second to my soma.

Time willed the rust to spread as a cursed plague,
Dry skin left in wake of the tragic rage
Of my own emotions
Swept into motion,
New to the notion,
That I am
Broken.

Basic elements of myself
Delve into a sea of damnation,
Dwell in segregation,
Revelling in its
Self-corroding,
Self-destructive
Rebellion.

I once loved the stars. She loved it too.
Golden sparkles that struggle to be seen;
There's something just so admiring
In these dancing twins.
And in admiration we find the desire
To be like the ones we admire.
And we did.

Stars evolve from basic elements,
Anti-creationists - the "rationalist" lament the
laziness of their damned architect(s).
Air and Gold intertwined, interlaced,
Golden mist a blanket over
The dish of rackets Man backed with the mad.

Crafted to be divergent,
Entities weren't simply pieced together,
A hermaphrodite was fused with
What's been cruelly separated from rift.

I was a boy of air,
Transparent.
Transparent in a world increasingly
opaque, chaotic, mechanic.
But I was free.
And that was all that matter to me.

She was a girl of Gold,
Daughter of Midas,
hair failing in gorgeous elan,
Wearing black skinny jeans with holes
smacked on them,
And a mint-white bracelet that covered
the words hidden underneath.

She was simply golden.

So with air and gold
Twirl and whirl in rapture and thrill,
The winds swept the golden dust
As he willed
As she willed
And danced together with the dancing twins.

But no one likes being immortal.
No one loves the ethereal.
Just a cathartic pill,
A deal made with the devil,
The world disintegrates to just us,
And to her just her
And a memory of her lover.

But broken hearts are commonplace,
A little heartbreak comes with the package
Of being part of this world
Called life.

No One Gives A Damn.
No One.
But I think someone does.
And that someone that wants
Have someone understand what they meant,
What they felt,
What they needed,
What the wanted,
What they remembered,
They can find this.

Challenge the taboo,
Without others making them of a fool,
Because I still have some gold left in me,
that must be cast out into the dusk of abandoned masks,
And they will find a hint, of the
Last Stardust.