clocks and cynics: one can't survive without the other...

"If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life."

what famous words
from such famous lips,
giving me only the advice
to dwell in our
tempestuousness,
to bide my time
(and nail beds, no doubt!)
and watch
and sit
and wait it out,
for all the rhymes,
lest reason,
expunged, wrung
out, released
on tiles bruised
from past years' time;
my veins run dry
with your elegy,
parched in all
monotony,
but yet i wait,
dear oscar wilde,
to prove this
syllabic symphony
i'm laughed at
spat at
called a fool,
patience binding,
waiting for you,
though time is running
catch up while you can!
your poison slowly
swells the sting.


you have to love mr. wilde. for as much as i can despise poetry written in prose, he inspires me to do it best i can. i haven't written anything rhyming for a minute, so i thought i'd write a little sonnet like contraption, which is easy to read and understand. i may always be vague but at least this has a direct object.
love will most likely always be elusive for me. i have friends getting married left and right and having babies and buying houses... when did i miss the memo, and the bus? this will always make up the most emo part of my existence, the most substantial heart of my writing, and the central core to my choreography.
can one person make this right? and even if they could, would i ever let them?
i don't know if i would know how to open myself to that again.
read some oscar wilde. it brings your most unjaded cynicism out, and it's so bitter it can only be described as lovely.

k.