think you have learned to live without the love.
You think another never heard you weeping in the dark
and lonely corners of the nights of your exposure.
You think around the pain that dwells within.
Avoiding every nuance of your sin.
Your masks are getting old and cracked.
You paint them with a newer satin sheen.
But still you leak.
Like an aroma in a bakery - but bitter.
Words form within a backdrop of a poisoned mimicry.
Slipping past your lips when you think that the others can't see.
Whispering of dark and aching things you hold within.
In a backdrop of sunshine, your eyes have gone blind.
You greet them all with upper-class civility.
A stylish attack dog - teeth bared in the rictus of a smile.
Growling low, within a purring rhythm.
Telling them the things they wish to hear.
But your acidic breath just eats away the sense of gaiety.
Pretending you adore those forms of social dysentery.
A paradise that turns into dystopia by way of your arrival.
You hide behind cold facts and icy walls of perspiration.
You've thought yourself into the separation of all else.
Getting high, you try to fly in hope of finding more.
Not noticing your spirit sinking deeper in the mud.
As your dreams slip silently into the chasm
engorged by the departure of your soul.
Heart beating in a rhythm seeking hell.
But all the while, you hold yourself aloof.
Telling them you have discovered proof
of the existence that you never really lived.
Pain bleeds through porous boundaries
of words you use to play them all like fools.
They give you up. And so you move again.
Through crowds of people unaware
of all your secret sins.
Weeping in the dark of up above.
Stopping here and there to find
another victim tortured by your presence.
Essence seeping out into the air.
Thinking you can live without the love.
Then discovering the place you're in
has grown into oblivion again...
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .