Tell me what you think.
When The Photo Albums and Memories Just Don’t Sustain Us
Daggers and malfunctioning blades
pressed directly between her eyes,
leaking out the diminishing colors of her self destructing irises;
It was the best she could do for herself,
for what mercy does time impress anymore?
Everyone walks the same damned path,
on the same autumn day,
the conclusion to the climatical symphony
of a lustful colored tragedy;
No use to reach out,
to find the physicality in anything in the least,
the result will be the boldest form of failure,
where the softest type of bandage won’t alleviate the calamity;
though the isolation doesn’t set in with the mist,
though it’s unapparent to those who seek it out,
this plexiglas of our apathy separates us all;
Where we’re locked forevermore
in a robots metallic heart;
Where the magnets and screws are designed
to fall apart, to murder;
To tear our dying humanity into
shards of broken love and romance,
whisked away our devotion, trust,
our faith in all we knew and perceived as comfort,
gone;
Vanishing oh so gallantly below the surface of demise,
to explode,
to implode just as our bittersweet hearts stop pulsing,
that’s the true apocalypse,
when all is lost and cannot be found;
When embraces of elation were
abandoned and could not be recovered.
For that’s when those wintry hallucinations haunt her most;
When the oh so familiar icicles of delusion impaled her lavishly,
cascading down her intoxicated cheeks,
adorned her with the burden of her thickest shroud of solitude,
when the wolves cry out their terror in unison, as one…
Who would be there in those numerous moments of fright?
To welcome her with open arms, into the security of another?
But only the echoes, the torture of grimacing punishment,
the lifetime of hell where dismay always preceded luck,
where the darkness was ash and turned to our dust,
that is what she always breathed.
Sufferings of another,
heart wrenching conclusions rip them to shreds,
and though the tears had never came to being,
the emotions were always there, and emotions never die.
The connections bound underneath her reality,
fragile roses of black and crimson consistency,
where rain falls in sunlight and eradicates negativity…
But the sun does not shine here, at least not for now;
all that remains is a disguise, coveted, eroded,
our figments of brainwashed sanity,
the morals and dead lessons that speak of letting go,
releasing hold of a realm we grew so close with,
compressing our sadness of the world we were leaving,
forgetting all we’ve loved and held so dearly.
Yes, the times don’t give off signs of mercy anymore,
every man is to himself,
to go about the world without figments of hope…
Then again, the times never gave off mercy…or did they?
