Among Many Others
Among Many Others2 mins 368 2 mins 368
You're like a black head in my skin.
I simply don't heed to the attention you plead;
You're inside me only because I don't care for the fuss that you ask
To have yourself uprooted.
You're like a suicide bomber that has gone ahead and blasted himself.
Like flakes freeze from rain,
All your spraying blood, and bones, have crystallised in a thousand red cornerstones
Of memory, eating away at my brain.
Like a wrong-way facing foetus stuck in my head,
You refuse to turn about
And you refuse to come out.
If I was a painter
Or could sculpt,
I would've brought you back to breath.
I think I would've chosen the face of when
You went down on me for the first time
Man, you were hot.
You would've been a fine canvas for life and love, frozen in that one moment of anticipation:
An amazing prelude;
Of something far greater waiting ahead-
I go through every picture that I have from school;
Every line of our idiot smiles hides a memory
And yet it all feels so hopelessly false at this moment,
So unhappened a thing,
Almost a dream, for
Who will say we had sex more than a hundred times, as boys?
Who will say we used each other's bodies and brains, like toys?
Who will say you were a coward
And I, a villain true?
Not even you.
You're like a shitty internet connection.
In the time of my direst need, you know well to turn back on your heels, unsure.
You're as shitty as the data pack I hate but endure
Because I've paid, already.
You're a disappointment.
You know, the disappointment of when you come too soon
When you want to hold back with all your might
You want to hold back, to hold on to me
You want to make it last - the past -
And couldn't. How different is ice from water, really?
You're just a sad little sack of surrender
That I've blown into a hot air balloon.
You've magically sailed up my windpipe and refuse to sneeze out of my nose,
And it's got nothing to do with what you do,
It's my own fingers that close in on my nostrils;
My striving for sorrow that floods my gills,
The solace I find in cradling my grief
As one would a child.
Shit, I really can just uproot you like a weed, you know,
But what if I really go ahead and wipe clean my canvas?
What tether ties my boat to the port?
What answer remains for my endless maze of meaning and madness?
What proves my past to me? What is, really, the difference
Between water and vapour?
You're like the first star I spot in the sky.
Not significant to reality,
Not affected by what you mean to me,
You're a thin strand holding a sky lantern in place
Among many others.