Tuesday, May 18, 2010


Which one to choose?

The toxins of the night, singing their siren song,
beckoning the gluttonous child to go forth
and devour
my next conquest
where your skin is my canvas
if you’ll only give me the colours you feel
so I can craft my legacy


there you are, deaf to my tune
deaf to my heart’s percussion pulsing the sirens along
or maybe I’m muted in your orchestra of possibility.

Do I decide to retreat, coward myself into a person
who cloaks in the guise of ordinary disorder,
unsure of what my standards are except for the notion
that they exist
in those whose nights express what their days should not,
forcing myself to believe their sunlit smiles all the while.

My morning presents danger, in my
intrusive desires, clouding the light of my dreams.
These day-mares exposed to my mind’s jury controlled
by the orchestra you conduct, unaware.
Their symphony condemns the personification of these thoughts,
solidifying the poison within.
You’re my freedom’s expression,
and my captivity’s master—
my what if’s are my shackles and chains.

Whichever I choose, the outcome won’t shine
with the sun that exposes all sin.
In the dusk of my patience,
your orchestra’s verdict awaits its release.

Whichever I choose, the poison will linger,
in veins reaching out to flow with you,
or in placebo words of love and affection
given to those who would take it—only to hide it in darkness,
where the sun cannot reach it
where my heart will freeze
and the song will die while
your symphony roars.

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