Thursday, August 26, 2010

The jumbled ambient disaster ensues
lack of desire, lack of love
and a dangerous abundance of peculiar youth
has made me a scrawny recluse
the isolation of each day
more knots on the noose
uncounted chores, mounting unwritten dream lore
wicked fire tellers implore
strokes of fickle fate
they never stay, they never stay
they test me & try me
a little red sports car that reads
"please drive but don't dare buy me"
like I'm a fucking food sample plate
after they ate and had their way
their spirits sway, make excuses
ignore my protests and dismay
and levitate, levitate away
withdraw from unity
the collective price I pay
a beekeeper with many stings
but no honey to taste

consistency I cry for you
the jewel that is emotional dependence
a mine of common ground
yet I feel stoic and just
measuring the distance of sound
wails sounding any hint of order
is disrupted by a glance and gone

all that remains
a bruised reflection in a lily pond
and remnants of a fragile cloth
a painting that will never dry
like the fleeting generosity in his wet eyes

honesty demands my trust
I trust I gave it a fair try
but I trust more
that he was just another swine
rooting in me like a trough
the blond yarn that was his hair
mislead me to assume his soul
was just as soft
It was not

I suppose I never truly loved him
he was just another man to wear
but pettiness is hardly fashionable
and so he was worn out
like an old pair of tennis shoes
sooner the soles were bare
far from impressive and laughable
there were sharper tools to spare
but i don't visit any shed now
God let me avoid
childish stagnation and shots of slurry
it provokes the mother of all worry
and my concern was proven vain
my despair falls with disdain
for he was hardly a companion
after he left in the mornings
I found far greater comfort
in the illusions of Layne
even if he was a mere ethereal splendor
somehow he was an ally and soul defender
but at the end, the thought of any man
is just a life ender
every union is nothing of unity
none of them understand me
they stamp returned to sender on my heart
and from all grace, i soon shall depart
for if you think I'm right it isn't so
not the cloak of motherhood or the promise of dreams
can make a shattered lifetime of displacement
appear well, healthy, or whole
No, no. no
We all know I'm a shameless pretender
and so the last morsels of care
are becoming stale and cold
and common sense is colder
a frozen fairytale
elves are more loved by Claus
and i'm nothing more
than the embodiment of the lost cause
forgotten, cast aside, in these flames I smolder
wondering if I shall ever find my way
when I get a little older

(c) 2010 Jessica Robbins

No comments:

Post a Comment