Saturday, February 7, 2009

a midas voice

what magical binds
these chains do have,
devastation and
headache all alike;
with the chain
trailing behind you,
then me,
clinking with each
small chink
in it's bony,
uncomfortable arm.
oh you and
me and
this stupid dichotomy
of what it should
what links
bound us to our own;
i don't (still)
know why i bother,
my dreams are full
of tired
and my eyes are dulled
with whiskey
i've written words
that are more beautiful
than i'll ever be
to you...
i give.
i give it up
to be dumb
in a world full of sharks
and hope
that one day
in one way
i'll find a door
to relent, to
i'm sick of you and your
golden letters
rich and fake
in all their reach
and if i never hear
your voice, again,
i'll be fine
the way i always

don't try to understand. anything. don't try and understand my words, my intent, my fallibility... don't plan, don't give too much, don't smile too readily. you will be raped, and you will be pummeled.
i long for the days that my biggest worry was what beer i would drink that night... that decision was hard but easier than who i would choose to love.
how can you love someone else that has never been there, for more than a day? a night? a dream?


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