Nothing to say. Why should we have
something to say? It’s not like we
can’t find
the words. The words came so cleverly,
like we planned it.
And how much can you ever plan anything? Like
grasping at reality while
the cliff crumbles under your desperate grasping fingers.
Losing control as colossal as some hard-headed
punk rock nu-metal festival
losing those you cannot lose
losing those you’d promised yourself would never be lost.
Take pain into your own bloody
and incapable hands.
Call it into submission,
cow it like some savage mutt
chained to idiocy’s gate fence, do
you still comprehend the pain?
And like the words planned themselves
so cleverly
you cannot express minty disgust,
can you?
Drugged into insubordination coldly and
almost wholeheartedly I suppose…
Is that where it all went wrong?
Your crumpled newspaper voucher
airplane ticket
landing with a last-gasp flutter at
my stranded feet.
Queuing for the answer machine. Overcome
the troublesome denial like
it was never truly as real as it
declared itself to be. Desecrate
forbidden love with nature’s
unhappiness and jealous rages. Cry insane and
jubilant praise to the fluttering
square floating
meaninglessly above the cold remaining
cubicular disturbance. And
who ever said you were sorry anyway?
Who ever gave you leave to be sorry?
Do you even care? Do
you even see the
cherry blossom
that coats everyone’s hair?
Adding your comment: