Vertigo

Memory is a strange place
To watch a sunset from

Here everything glows and smells of love

Like scented candles at midnight, like your skin

Like the faraway whisper of evening rain.

And now outside in between tall shadows

Of the long fingers scraping gold-laced clouds

that point and critique my loving

Among the eyes and eyes masked and named

That never cry or soften with quiet gratitude

I set free these last naked thoughts.

Fate. The belief that everything is predetermined

By another, by a greater,

The acceptance of lack of control,

Of existing in an ever growing universe of chaos.

A numbing of the senses.

And yet love, while we ride a higher tide

Of happiness, curling smiles,

Flashes of flashing laughter,

But for the fear of the crashing

Waves and waves of sadness,

Of loneliness, we could be gods.

Going on. Moving on. Ahead of oneself.

A further numbing of the senses.

The phone ringing

Through the earpiece

Pressed close to the ear,

A waiting, a yearning.

Oh please oh please pretty please.

Desperation.

Some call it determination.

The birth of hope

And an anticipation of emptiness.

Forever. Stop. Screaminthehead.

Closed eyes. Breathe.

Don't let the tears run.

Stop. No answer.

Meanwhile the sky is falling,

Diving into the horizon

With its jewels and promises

In red and gold

Leaving behind nothing

To hold on to

Nothing when I close my eyes.

This is it.

Cold. He lies half naked

Curled around a pile of bricks.

He opens his eyes

Wide enough to see the dark

Outlines of buildings in the distance.

Above, beyond the strokes of wires

A careless sky glowing brightest blue.

An anticipation of falling.

A vertigo to force things

To their logical conclusions.

Weary. Waiting.

A waiting like the waiting

of the ones sentenced to love

Without a pause. A pause.

Sick, curling into nostrils.

A glimpse of hatred.

For all that you love

that you have loved

that made you cry

in moments of sudden dreamcometrues.

Self destruct this system

this world the neon wild

the streets wet and dark

the voices crackling

television faces

lips and cunts

swaying softly

fucking shitting shopping

under spotlights.