fever stained silences speak softly

And when it ends, all you will remember is the way I used to hold your hand

Slowly, ever so slowly, like a wound healing, the pieces fit. Reality is much heavier to bear than the burden of dreams, it’s more ruthless than the curse of temptation.

This apology is long over due.

And in the sun I see no god, no shades of gold.

Only you.

It aches like a mother fucker to become what we must become. Be it led by an unyielding heart, mind or world. But we acquiesce like silent, obedient Pinocchios, with hearts that collapse every time we try to defy the cruel hubris of merely being alive.

Some term it selfishness. Some say its man’s inane inability to deny his intrinsic core made of solid evil. I think it has more to do with choosing what we want to remember. And always choosing wrong.

There’s no fire in the hearth now, there’s no face in the moon

We got to get the fuck out of here on a smoke balloon

I try to recall

What you said through it all

But all I can remember

Is that day in November

When I lay writhing in delirium

Watching angels fall

But all I really noticed

Was the writing on the wall

The writing on the wall

Rang like a siren’s call

It bemoaned and beseeched

To me to try to crawl

Up out of my dementia

And into insanity

Curl up into the arms

Of depravity

It said:

Sup!

Mother Fucker!

Did u think it would be easy?

Did you think you could forget,

What you don’t want to remember?

Did you think you can fly,

Right on out of my life?

Did you think I wouldn’t haunt

You from dusk till dawn

Did you think I’d let you sleep

After what you did to me?

It whispered like you moaned

It stuttered like you stoned

It wrapped up all around me

Like meat on a bone

It strangled and choked

like cow dung smoke

I looked for rope

But found some dope

So I sat down stoked

As the roof’s water broke

And the windows made love

And the curtains wept blood

But your eyes never burnt

No your eyes never burnt

And like the tide you turned

And like the sun I set

Are your fingers still wet?

Did you remember to forget?

All that could’ve been?

All that never should have been?

the writing on the wall…
Was your name, after all.