Fallen Ladder In The Gasoline
Without uncovering the secret clarity within my timorousness,
you accuse me of selling out to men at a rate of exchange for
dividends to survive, but that declaration proves that you
have simply tried to ignore the dirt on your own knees
through polishing that libertine shame onto my morality.
And as I view your ladder of amelioration fall into the gasoline
with a open box of matches ready to complete the suicidal deed,
I'm like a dog barking anger in your direction because of the way you've
disrespected me, but honestly, I just want to hold your hysterical fingers
in my hand and show you how to discover clarity through peace with oneself.
Because I'm emotionally fatigued from every poem I write discussing the
same desired solution to your unhappiness, yet in reality can never find the
bravery to abandon this anti-hero status and assure myself that obsession with
pen, paper and the alphabet is not an indication of my own disconsolate heart,
thus disproving hypocrisy for wanting to love you when I don't even love myself.
And I could wait until the destruction of language occurred before enchanting you
with the first kiss capable of warming away the winter of ten thousand years,
but it is certain by that time you'll be long departed and my lifetime would then only be describable
as amorphous, therefore this temporary resignation from my normal self today due to your
deterioration will hopefully give me future confidence in decision-making for both of our fate.