your dustmites and ripped frocks
haunt me still
despite the chill of a new winter
and the harsh winters passed
I follow a part of your hope
in my dreamscape
and sweep up the hailstones
that left dents in my car.

It's too late for that old story to end anew
it's too late to expect old bridges
to be maintained after the fire
when roasted toes ran quickly
when embers never let up
built heat slowly til the air
choked you,
left your lungs broken and your vocal chords
sore

i am not a perfect human nor is ours a perfect story
ripped to shreds with ego and pain
controlling love and love for disdain
I always try to scream love when it rains
but mostly it sounds like drowning.

Love is a chemical

Love is a wasteland of guilt
and cages rusted shut
No,
i can't help you out of your rut,
this is not your character,
this affect, attitude and mindset,
this racked rib is laid bare of heartbeats,
stupid little things fuelled by
chemical misunderstandings
I have been so young and so stupid for so long.

Love, is a chemical, nothing more.
It allows this race to pour more of itself
into itself,
perpetuate this chronic life disease and
procreate
I'm sorry I let you believe there was some magic in it,
and have i ever inspired you,
I apologise.

I truly believed in it too
but magic is a capitalist illusion,
just like music is a form of auditory wanking
painting is a mental illness
and poetry is pure narcissism,
it was wrong of me to give you false hope
and elevate such things to deities,
this rope around my neck speaks the truth
and love, well, its a social tool.

I am not love, nor do i know it.
I cannot show it or seek it,
without each step or character questioned,
each motive hastened to ulterior,
each heartbeat creaking with the weight of this
stone pissing blood,
these patched over bones,
growing crooked and skinny
this dull lamp that once was a star in my eyes
this pedestal, smashed to pieces
and the truth is a smug professor,
waggling his finger
saying i told you so.