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I ain’t no lamp, but my wick is burning low. - The Low Anthem
the ghosts of my past tragedies
keep me fed and warm
as my latest disasters starve my heart
living is flame
but life is just smoke
skin is raw
lungs are black
my embers are dim and obscure
the footprints of my humiliations
follow with more loyalty than i deserve
every cross-purpose contradiction
every pie-eyed confession
every tattered and dangling and bottled demotion
reverberate across the shadows
i fail to leave in my wake
hello to the ghosts
goodbye to the sun
welcome to all of my many misnomered moments
sit down all you bloody broken dreams
feast well on what’s left of my purpose
dine vigorously on the crumbs of my hopes
come in grab a glass
toast the end of the beginning
the start of the unknown echoes
the mistakes that stake out my claim
the eras of judgment
that make up my history
the years fallen flat on my face
do my eyes not wear
all of the pain?
do my ears not tremble with fear?
does my skin not crawl
across the broken glass
a pustulant petulant dance
a ritual of ragged resignation
keep in mind dear children that
we are tethered to our hunger
the way our hearts are tethered to our suffering
keep in mind that
only a mouthful of honored regrets
is enough to hollow out our days
and replace them with the cold incentive
of pale stars
dry wind
and loathing
so while the ghosts
gently cover my head with kisses and flannel
while my dreams slowly shiver and sigh
while my latest disasters
sate themselves cruelly
my mouth crumbles unwillingly eager
around a strange abandoned blues
a melody uneven and beautifully cruel
and
my eyes close first in sadness
and later in long lost sleep
copyright 2012
David
McIntire |
