Quiet Desperation

Love's needs must be met

By love alone.

But on nights

Wrung dry of streetlights

And old monk,

And songs

Wrenched from broken guitars,

Lust will fill in nicely.

My suicidal heart

Will rush where fools boldly tread.

I try to hold it 

In my palm,

Laced with arsenic.

My suicidal heart

Rushes towards the wall

Again and again,

Yet you remain unmoved.

Battered

And bruised,

It staggers like a drunk monkey

Towards an outstretched hand

Offering a paracetamol 

Well past its expiry date;

Any hand will do,

Any drug is welcome.

Your indifference, 

Anesthesia,

And thus I am numb

To the sharp edges of your words.

Ours is a boundless history,

Our grieving hearts in continuous flight mode.

We've adapted for survival

In the many tricks up our sleeves

And needles in our pockets.

If you should die before me,

I will sing you the songs 

Of your childhood.

But if I should go first,

Please crack my body open

And give my bones another life.

I promise to do better

The second time around.