This place once filled with life is now empty and barren. I look around, but everything is gone. The forest has overgrown and it doesn\'t feel the same as that time we got drunk in the summer and kissed. My body is a transcript of ambivalence holding onto a wistful smile. The silence is bigger than a canyon and flows like a river. I feel the imminent and sweeping sense of loneliness crawl into my mind, painting on the canvas with blood. I can\'t breathe in this house with a mountain of addictions weighing me down, swept under these waves of light refracting from a triangular prism. This room filled with despondent music knows my silent tears, and nobody knows me like you do. Praying for the future but remembering the past. Whatever happened to the lovers holding hands? Whatever happened to the man quietly drinking alone in the bar dreaming of sin? Whatever happened to the laughter of children playing or the places we grew up in and learned to find ourselves happy in dance? Whatever happened to the boy writing poems about you under moonlight nights or the fading memories of youth? Perchance we lost our minds along the way and retreated from the day burning in oranges and red?
No one ever sits in these seats. No one ever speaks about how the arrows of love penetrate us so deep we can\'t think clearly on the carousel of fear and regret. For so long I\'ve been living for the night, for pleasure, I forgot I was a melting clock in water. Speechless when I think about my father, young and in love. The pain is a seed, a burden, an ever growing sun that shines brighter than any moon. I run from it, the burning desire dancing in ruby fires. Lost in this ocean of hedonism. I look around this place of self-satisfaction and peculiar decadence, and I wonder where everyone went. I can still hear the voices of loved ones like it was yesterday. Lingering in stillness. One minute I was hyperventilating and then my worries fell off like brush wood. Imploring the extensor to open, the mirrors to open, my mouth to open. I push my fingers into sore wounds and squeeze the red flesh until it hurts and feels good. I look in the mirror and I see a rose reflecting back at me, time passing. The attainment is obvious and welcomed, but not as wide or deep as the circumference of a wise mind. A numinous thought sparks, light and angel-like. Death\'s head in a dark sky. When the sun rises I am self-loathing. Those pumpkin lips are beaten and sour, a doppelgänger, listening to the music as it slowly fades. An optimistic outpour of hope bleeds from my hands in prayer and a shower of thoughts like blue ribbons twirl in sacred colours. I taste it, the insomnia, the ironic cornucopia of endless dreams. The air asphyxiates and wraps me up in tightly woven knots, a yellow kite flying in the untapped distance, a song I vaguely remember chimes, a glimmer of diamond particles, a feather floating in good weather to meet rainy skies. Our dreams left us haunted. Breathing in rectitude but our souls are corrupt. Deep in the grommet of waters a transient orgasm burrows through riveting eclipses. I make love with the stars. This feeling of love lives deep inside me, perfect and untouched.