An elegant corruption of the truth
(to be sure)
Not with subtlety,
But through blunt force trauma
-ungrounded accusation.
A flurry of absurdity
And grandiose proclamations
Turn into undeniable
Encouragement of murder
Idiocy and prejudice.
A bleak and undesirable future
To look backwards to.
Balance a goblet full of sorrow
On your head until the morrow
With dignity and grace
Hold a steady pace
And smile like
it isn't
there
Fitted snug upon your hair
Waiting to tip over.
I look out to the ocean and see
A finely woven tapestry of
The sheerest gauze overlaid with
Beaded organza winking under the sun
Waves of lace fluttering at my toes.
She beckons to me in a (quiet, soothing) roar
To become one with her composition.
I, who have known many fabrics, but am made of
Flesh and blood and bones and breath.
But also I am filled with her.
My skin prickles under the winds behest
And yearns for her to enfold me.
To fill my pockets with precious stones and
Welcome the embrace of her depths
Like a child returning to her mother's bosom.
What have I been up to lately?
How to explain the curiously busy task
Of self reflection, regulation, maintenance
The privilege of a daydream?
Or the purely masterbatory amount of time
Spent in contemplation?
How to justify that arguing with oneself
Could be a hobby, anxiety a sport?
How to convey the exhaustion
of such an incorporeal productivity?
It all sounds so vague and conceited.
Is it philosophy or self flagellation?
"Not much, and you?"
She was fearless
And she was brave.
She fought battles
She was too young to fight.
All her damage
Made her strong in the end.
And I love her now,
Even though I didn't love her then.
It's a little bit La Femme Nikita
A little bit lesbian
And a little bit heartbreaking in the end.
I wanted my villain to win
I wanted the girl to get the girl
To live chaotically ever after
The End.
