Lonely Patron

Forgive me if I struggle to forget
A happy memory, not distant yet.
Who’s traced so far the footsteps of your heart,
And wandered past where I might dream to start.
Send me to your lily speckled river,
Where your past lovers sip your apathy,
So I may be among sleepless beggars;
Cursed souls who know the lips that taste so sweet.
Send me to your frozen, starlit desert,
Where the carrion escapes the weather
And clings to the bones of its frigid home,
While frozen hearts drink deep its dying moans.
Though, please, spare me your petty victory,
Your bitter hunger for my jealousy,
Your shallow thirst for yet another’s words,
Who too shall fall, too soon, where mine fell first.
I know your malice is no less than pain,
Or the stings in my chest land less than rain,
I know your course, no less than loneliness,
Finds true, its mark, this heart that I detest.
Oh, you siren, your ballads of violence,
Sing it again, and again, til’ death gifts me silence
Sing it again, until blood finds its vibrance.
Sing, you pretty fool, sing to the islands.

An Explanation

I would picture blackness
where there might be life.
A simple,
sentimental attraction
to preconceived plight.

No garden bench serene
could convince me
of such peace.
A warm heart seems obscene
because of this disease.

Please,
Spare me your judgments,
I’ve already heard it all.
A life that is so loveless,
it seems no life at all!

This truth I know.
You must see that I agree.
It’s not the life I chose,
it seems to have
chosen me.

But, if you’re really listening,
let me speak one truth that’s missing.
Pretending makes existing
all the more
constricting.

So stay,
and hear the echoed sorrow.
One day,
perhaps even tomorrow,
I’ll be okay.

I’ll be okay.