Death (2)

(Written on August 6, 2012, at 6:50 am.)

death descends in the form of half a black label
death descends in the form of nothing good on cable
death descends in the form of taboo acts
death descends in the form of inalienable facts

death descends in waves of breathlessness
death descends in waves of inexplicable caresses
death descends in waves of sickness of stomach
death descends in waves of unfathomable luck

death descends in gulps of ill advised sips
death descends in gulps of desirous lips
death descends in gulps of more than one untenable thought
death descends in gulps of something surreptitiously sought

death descends in the blanket of a rusted mesh
death descends in the blanket of a confused flesh
death descends in the blanket of an uncertain dawn
death descends in the blanket of a heart recently torn

death then escapes with a little more than much less
death then escapes with the slightest tease of success
death then escapes with a wicked smile on its face
death then escapes leaving behind barely a trace

(Untitled)

(Written August 6, 2012, at 2:04 am.)

do you think you could find it in your heart
to break me into little pieces
that you could carry around in your pocket?
i promise not to bother you
or make it any more difficult to find your keys
amongst sticks of gum and credit cards.
i promise that i'll find a way
to be strong enough to survive washing machines
so you don't have to take care of me.
i promise that being with you always
is the last thing i'll ever ask for.

(Untitled)

(Written July 1, 2012, at 1:30 am.)

Every star in the forsaken sky is a memory of you and me.
Every passing cloud an attempt at taking people's advice to move on.
Every sip of wine is the you in me trying to break free.
Every drag of smoke an endeavor to let the past be gone.

The bristling leaves are signaling your breath in my mouth.
The immutable tree the reality of your life.
The Merlot tries to dissolve the truth.
The cigarette reminds me that someone else will be your wife.

All the white birds are your teeth on my skin.
All the navy of sky beyond your true love.
The wine corrodes the walls of being within.
The smoke rebuilds those walls around and above.

The light chars the existence of us, but can't obliterate it.
The darkness tries to hide it but fails.
The last sip of wine is all I have of you.
The puff is smoke tries to blur it, but sees it and wails.

Life

(Written April 14, 2012, at 12:50 am.)

Life do unto me this final favour,
Grant me the strength to be a little braver,
To weather the rest of you with a semblance of grace,
To meet Death with a welcoming smile on my face.

Life do unto me this final favour,
Grant me the serenity to silently savour
The rest of you with grit and a grin,
To greet Death with surrender to sin.

Life do unto me this final good,
To have you finally understood,
To wrap you in ribbons and a red bow,
To gift you to Death without sorrow.

Late Night Car Ride

(Written February 19, 2012, 3:02 am.)

Some death awaits in an unpenetrated darkness,

Some life in an unexplored black.

A few heartbeats lie patiently in wait,

A few breaths begin to unwittingly slack.

Energy and sound combine in an inescapable life;

Stillness and silence in a welcome end.

You begin to recede from all that is love,

You begin to enter all this is friend.

The crossroads speak volumes more than the music,

The subtle turns shriek in agony.

You are no longer the you I knew,

I am no longer me.

Melancholia

(Written November 24, 2011, 3:32 am.)

Two drinks too short, two breaths too long.
Broken links in a chain of thought.
Found in the words of a long lost song.
Dropped by the reality once precariously caught.

The distance between fleeting smiles.
The pause of the punctuating frown.
All the inches that feel like miles.
All the ups converging to the ultimate down.

The eyelid heavy with culpable times.
One last ill-advised sip.
Tensing in memories of unforgivable crimes.
Relaxing in Melancholia's forgiving grip.

Silhouette

(Written November 22, 2011, at 1:50 am.)

Your silhouette against the rising sun. The day has new meaning.

The night that has ended is forgotten in the past. The thought of your perfect body in a forgiven morning is a gift.

You may not see me, but I am the eyes that search for traces of you in the blowing wind.
You may not hear me, but I am the ears that hear all your languages.
You may not touch me, but I am the skin that is alive with the imagination of yours.
You may not know I exist, but I do. And I am revived to this world with your silhouette against the rising sun.