The Poet

I hate to love my golden cloak. An unending hatred of love. This love of self. Of sapphire and caramel. A mirror and eyes whisper.

We forgot our language. It speaks in dreams. The body detaches from itself. I shudder in dusk. I forgot how to speak. This verse. This tongue.

Inside the heart I find wounds. Wounds I am unable to heal. With this loss of self.

Fall in Love

Fall hard with shattered wings

and feel it pulse through your body

I may hurt now

but not forever

Feel her now

and then release her

We fall in lust. We die here. Love is the dream. One self remains.

How short this existence is. I deceive myself. I became human. We all did. From innocence to sin. I yearn to be unpolluted again. We watch each other. Their souls in their eyes.

It is labeled an obsession. I do not wish to live inside myself. Instead, my soul might wander like a ghost, untethered with grace. Translucent and empty. Who is to say who is the ghost? I wear the cloak. I drown. I smile. I pretend.

To love. For a love that simmers into dormancy. A deep slumber and mechanical lifestyle. Everything forgets itself at the door. Left in puddles for dreamlike ideas within unattainable nostalgia. Nothing comes to the door anymore. We forget ourselves.

I sometimes wonder if I will face myself. To look in the eyes. I miss how it was. Not the beginning moments but in the progression of self. How we diminished ourselves to become one. How every stranger was my soulmate. How now writing this, I understand I came here to escape but all remains the same. Due to an inability to change.

How I fantasize about empty golden sunsets and eyes. I see the eyes of each person I yearn for as they dance along the ancient walls. Like little prayers or little pupils slipped between cracks. Always watching us. Always watching the lips. As they ask for forgiveness.

Superiority of possession

To compensate for beauty.

Danger in lying

Dangerous beauty

Beauty who lies

This October hurts

of ash and bleeding sun

The veil I cast upon myself

makes it difficult to breathe

without the crumble