Baby, give me gasping galaxies of infernal heat to warm the vacuum where once I lay. Cut dusted fragments of the stars from my body and my mind–it think find its soul which till remembers the last whisper and caress out there where we made our nests in nebulae, powdered our faces in fractal fission and wept at the insane beauty that stretched to the unknowable ends. Give me whetstone tones of tenderness to grind on down these rough edges, I know you will. Fine tune my harmony to match the orchestra, I know you will. Love me gentle and love me brutal, I’ll do same. But, on the nights I go to bathe in the shimmer and glimmer of dead Giants birthing monstrous infinities while listening to shadows hum their lonesome shaded songs….on those nights, I am forever free.
The Final Argument of Lovers
Fickle sentiments with rusted diamond edges,
he said she said metronome bullshit breaking waves,
dividing in measured wedges.
Diatribes and verbal lacerations,
hurt soaked souls harmonizing in
beatdown rhythms instead of conversations.
You don’t know the depths to which I’ve gone,
the lengths of patience for love
you feel mislead like this was a siren song.
The end is racing towards us brutal fast
the thought that hateful statements
might be the last interaction is the worst
a feeling like nails in spine
an unending panic attack.
To Ink - a blog from Melting Neurons 