Requiem

One day the echo will answer the sadness that lives deep inside of me. Windswept and breathless, easily falling in love with the dreamlight of this reality I created. Sleepwalking into the nub of a waxy moonlight reflection. I stare at these white walls, my tomb. Swimming angels, sour and ripe. Spur to the summit of night pleasure. I don't believe in fiction, a closed fist in an immortal paper mouth. I don't believe in your idealism. I am a poet, I am intentional in this forgotten abode. I am a lover of all things transcendental and Atlantic, I even love the ghosts in my home. Nostalgia alive in my bones, I'm feeding on every morsel from the inside out. The church where I first sinned is burning down, no one can hear me now. I live in a toy box. A sad boy under the roar of the grey sky. Cold disconsolate morning by a countryside lake. I am awakening. Silently remembering the shimmering chrome of broken glass, unprepared. I've made a staircase out of my intellect, a man out of dark blue electricity. I see you in soft clouds, soft words melting like butter. The grass today is not green and the honour insignia is wetter than milk, more wet than a sentimental verse of ceremonial reverence. I lick the edges, in love with the idea of being infinite. In dreams of New York I am a sacrifice, a diluted alkaloid. You look at me like a lost reel of film, a wire attached to the past. Strange eyes, blurry eyes holding the truth. In my junkyard sanctuary of brass, scrap metal delights falling forever. I tried to understand your dexterous phobia, the medallion ear of noise. I am a reloaded gun, a revolving door. Cursing slumbering gods, I have no departing words. I leave silent. I am the cold face of steel, kicking in doors like a high-school shooter. I know the everyday mundane truth, how I lied to you, how you believed the world is coloured in when you can't see the missing link, the cryptobiotic energy separating us. We are one, losing blood.