Lamenting
If we remained as we were
And something beautiful never occurred
Would you still take me at my word?
Could it be that we are cured?
Or are we still infected by
this subtle, sickly, played-out lie
By candlelight you strum a lullaby
with every note you roll the die
Taking a chance on broken heart
Seeing how far you can string it apart
This aftertaste is rather tart
The gamble is resting on playing your part.
You could make a move, but then
She could start to feel again
So what would you do if and when
You commit to commit that sin?
Do you want to be in life?
Do you want to eliminate strife?
Do what you want with your knife
Your intentions are running rather rife
I see the damaging devastation you bring,
the cynical, inquisitive bastard king
as you wander down you sing
of a left hand cold without a ring
An empty spot next to you in bed
The nothing laying beside your head
The lingering of an impending dread
That this is it until you're dead
Is this what keeps your feet pounding away?
The notion that no one feels the same way?
That no one can ever really stay?
Or is because you have something to say?
All the words you've conjured in spite
Are bleeding out in contempt of your plight
Your sarcasm creates a humorous sight
When you slip on your words in the dark of night.
This poem is about:
Me