How to explain this train wreck…
This thing we once embraced as love,
that now looks on pitifully,
malnourished and dry.
A former shadow of the promises
we planted in it’s roots.
thousands of years of knowledge
to estimate the whereabouts of this
depended, almost wholly
on your inability
to let go.
Firstly, of your tedious habits-
the very shackles that tainted
a broken looking-glass,
secondly, of me.
That daunting moment after your release,
when the cold skin of a dissatisfied stranger
no longer warmed your limbs,
you clung, stubbornly to the nostalgia
of what seemed to be a scorching summer,
but in reality,
was no more than a tropic drought,
where nothing really survived.
A mere mirage.
We momentarily became cacti,
and when I told you I craved a wetter terrain,
you scoffed and violently insisted
that this was all you knew how to bring;
a blistering heat.
And while I reveled in my prickly skin,
just for you,
you couldn’t even bare the thought
of becoming an Eskimo
we were always
couple notches too short of
I guess we were overcome
by an invisible gust
of baby powder, pink dust:
debris from an ailment so alluring,
we mistook it’s brazen ecstasy
and mislabeled it as enduring.
Schopenhauer called it ‘will-to-life’,
to which we so automatically complied.
lay down the logic and virtue
of a scholarly life,
and spiral around a light,
from the exhaustion
Psychology calls this ‘natural selection’:
one of the many wrath of mankind’s flawed evolution.
When you took my breath away
that lonesome spring morning,
it was indeed my loins,
not my most inner demons
that yearned for a divan in your littered
living room of a life.
I deemed you suitable to father my offspring,
but not the dreams I conceived,
for I owned all paternal responsibilities,
patents and copyrights to my rogue thoughts.
You took no liberty in
History spreads it plainly, really.
How did you ever believe,
we were built for prolonged matrimony?
It is actually,
no more than a nifty little business plan
to utilize the blood of man.
To pass down to his rightful heir,
He toiled so hard to round off.
So the contract you so desperately wished
to bind my joys in,
is in essence, a sinister commodification,
masked in an even more
seemingly innocuous slew of lies, of
And of course, stupid us.
To give in so easily
to a hackneyed buzz.
Of diamonds and gold freshly plucked
from cracked fingernails of
dark, aged children.
What a beautiful way to show love!
These dainty briars you placed
around my finger and neck may
have looked like murals
But we came up close.
Ached and mourned
over a barren tombstone.
No flowers grew here.
We watered immortelles and cried
when they didn’t bloom.
The pink blinds
and the white picket fence
were, all along
a cemetery, waiting on a simple prayer.