Unconscious, maybe, but beautiful,
and I’ve found my ticket out of Hell.
Shimmered when the sorrow and sadness
made me bitter and I told you
I was lost when you thought you’d found me.
Reminded that you left behind
a trail of ruin stretching so far South
that it was shot to Hell and back again
before dropping off the face of the earth.
You were saved, but what of me?
And what of your silly dreams
of intangible fame and hopeless grandeur?
Did they live through the destruction
of our deepest, darkest secrets?
You wanted love; I gave you utter heartbreak,
and your dreams limped on as mere pictures
of an elusive future. I couldn’t capture them again.
And what of the sadness?
I’d have called it off but you told me
the blood was beautiful and the pain was exquisite,
so I stayed to watch you waste away.
Lost when I thought I’d found you,
and the way back home vanished;
but I know I’d die to have you in my arms again
and this pain is all that’s left.
Irrelevant? Maybe, but absolutely beautiful
and I’m wasting away before my very eyes.
Gone has never seemed
more promising than it does now,
but I was never one for dreams
or the sort of misguided hopes that fueled you.
I don’t have your ability to feel
and it’s now-or-never when I open the window and
gaze at the untouched concrete sidewalk…
Below…