Float away from thoughts of what could’ve been done better.
Each scar, each scrape – each idiosyncrasy.
Dance around the room foolishly, own each minute of it.
Live for yourself,
Everything else? Just dust to wisp off your fingertips.
Whether fault belongs to you
Or in truth, may lie with me
It’s all about perspective
All that matter’s what you see
The contrast is stark,
Naked, breathing, bleeding.
Not lost in the delirium,
“Love is patient, love is kind,”
Said some sad sap before it all ended –
Love is lovely, but my soul is mine,
Dancing on a mountain side,
Alone under the fiery sky.
Street corner painted in color,
Apollo’s light kisses the clouds.
Each step full of history,
Beginnings, ends, drunk lovers,
Every morning all is born anew,
The streets are alive for you.
Roses are red, like the inside of your eyelids.
Fragments of dreams and memories swimming behind them.
Seeds planted with high hopes, Start to wither in winter.
Then are re-imagined in the spring.
Red, like the first drop of passion spilt. Like struggle, madness, – all but sadness.
Sadness only arrives in hues of the deepest blue, gives birth to perils in your head.
What a simple gift, that roses are red.
spring to life.
A billion times,
in his wondrous eyes.
Morbid whispers, past to present,
Decadent in mourning.
Efforts much too long misspent,
Haunted, rich with yearning.
Ask, but never postulate,
Arrive honest and plain.
More emptiness to consecrate,
A journey made in vain.
With distance alone the burden fades,
The heart finds itself aflutter.
The end at last, of all charades,
Not a word left to utter.
Though anguish may appear to rise within those vacant skies,
Can’t trust a single tear, if it falls from a demon’s eyes.