My thoughts vicarious, adscititious and vapid, insidious and rapid, colorless and added. Not wanting for you to leave. I'm wanting to reprieve but not heave you through the citadel of my hidden hell. I wonder what it's like in a catacomb, leaving you here all alone, lonesome. Left there in a crypt when all you're left is to sift through the memories. But I have the key, albeit rusted and bent, I will bring you out of what I put you in. And although it not my citadel, I will take you from it. We both are kept from the flesh that hurts and the fear that rips and tears the skin like sand. But I have brought you some water so you are not malnourished, but keeping you there so we both are not punished. And I can see that you can't live this way for one more year. I can see it in your hazel eyes and your teary eyes, but by the time I turn that lock to set you free, you will find a way out by screaming and kicking your way through those three-inch thick steel walls and I will steal you from him. We never knew we had to steal from the free to become free ourselves. We never knew "free" was a short-lasting feeling worked hard for but never fully earned. We never knew free was just the chaff of the harvest and being together just for an hour once every month was the drop of water found in the desert that you've been walking weeks for. We never knew separation was what brought us together.
I will rescind the flesh that is him, the sin of the night and the dark of the whim. Brought together in times of plight, I met you in the maw of the night.
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Poem Book
PoetryA literary tête-à-tête to help myself get by. You will find both poem and prose in this public diary of thought and representation, but a cliché name never hurts anyone.
