Category: poem

i give up on most things
because i have trouble
trying to believe in them
just point out the exit
i’ll take it by any means
if there’s a risk involved
expect me to fold quickly
before i get told too late
when i’ve made a stake
with reprecussions attached
don’t need anything here
to drag me down further
someone told me i’m too good
to do it for myself
how wrong they were
but they were just being kind
my mistakes are my own
you can review them briefly
know my merits are bound
to the elasticity of my soul
kept in a glass jar
above the kitchen sink
with spare change and buttons
for coats i no longer own
but i can’t seem to let go
you must get the idea by now
so just point in the direction
and i’ll be on my way

not a mistake but a given
that should have taken out
the little parts you try to hide
yet remain on display

integral to your being
important to hold together
before shattering all
this frustrating reality

all miracles depend on
false hopes rising
above the last thought
at the riverbed below

dive down inside
correct the current
get back on course
acquire redemption

turn what was seen
as a deterrent of you
into the defining attribute
that makes you

more important than you think

as i fell
beneath the ice
i felt the cold cover me
as i descended
i saw the sky
through the cracks
but not reaching out
just taking it in
as i hit the bed
becoming comfortable
waiting for the night
and the next to follow
join me below
underneath the frozen
within the glacier
forevermore

i was out of context
taken word for word
if you could have heard
the rumours they churned

guilty of leaving lust
behind with you
taken carelessly
for cold days ahead

forged autographs
for bouncing cheques
made out to alibis
with blank memos

caught with heat
my finger on the trigger
but i never pulled
just got framed up

hanging on the hill
while the town turns
in the dusks and dawns
lost to new days

only to wake up
to empty bottles
angry voicemails
the smell of your perfume

still lingering in the room

still fascinated with these yellowing pages
old words that used to have such great meaning
left to burn away in the sun’s harsh caress
an unkown author sitting in the abyss
few moments have ever truly moved them
to feel a heart beat a little faster
before all are overcome by the energies
of the lost worlds last explosion
standing still before the encore
where dust and ash become indistinguishable