No One really Knows anyone, anymore.
I haven't posted poetry in a long time...but, i like this one.
There is Magick you cannot feel
Beneath the wooden floorboards
That creaks in the late hours
Of my mania, my madness
My contemplations, my misgivings,
I am spinning too fast to describe
The gripping instincts in my gut
Gutless, tiresome, pining
But there is Magick you cannot see
You refuse the torment of inevitability
Declare me, mine, yours-
But the universe, she speaks
My name, your name, nothing
I light candles just to observe
The dripping wax, the melting
The only thing I can believe in-
Vanishing light.
Magick in ending, never beginning
The pretending protagonist
Of this saga
The arrogant man, the empty carcass
Of what I have always been-
Do you tip toe in the early mornings?
Tip toe through the home we share-
The floorboards you built
To absorb the stench of this death-
Our death can be beautiful
No need to hide it, love
For this is the ending, there is no beginning
Do not walk lightly
In fear the wooden floor will awaken the dead
There is Magick beneath this foundation,
But you cannot find it.
Am I two steps ahead, or too far behind?
Does my blood scare or awaken?
Are my thighs sweet only in memory
Where you once plotted our future
Your love, it built lies I could’ve lived with
But your reoccurring concern
With what is no longer yours
Are rotting beneath us
And I may mourn in silence
Masking the dissatisfaction-
Of your arrogance
The Magick you ignore
Beneath the floorboards
The cries, the whimpers, oh, the prayers
They long to be free from you-
The God you built, the altars you refuse to burn
They scream, whipping, lashing, waiting…
Earth does not want them,
And fire isn’t enough to set them free-
Set me free-
Set yourself free
She has stopped whispering our names,
Our moon is no longer full, blue or new
But beneath us you keep the graveyard-
Your smirk no longer pleases,
And I am too lethargic to describe
The twisting truth in my crooked spine
But you hear them, too, love
You hear me in the late hours of my madness,
Listening to the ghost, the lies, the souls-
You have locked inside our home.
Settle down, love
Realize this is the ending
And stop the creaking, the madness
The torment you concern yourself with-
I am nothing but a distant photo
Of your splendid youth-
Old, boney and empty is what we’ve become
If you refuse, I ask only one favor:
Let my ghost free.
There is Magick you cannot feel
Beneath the wooden floorboards
That creaks in the late hours
Of my mania, my madness
My contemplations, my misgivings,
I am spinning too fast to describe
The gripping instincts in my gut
Gutless, tiresome, pining
But there is Magick you cannot see
You refuse the torment of inevitability
Declare me, mine, yours-
But the universe, she speaks
My name, your name, nothing
I light candles just to observe
The dripping wax, the melting
The only thing I can believe in-
Vanishing light.
Magick in ending, never beginning
The pretending protagonist
Of this saga
The arrogant man, the empty carcass
Of what I have always been-
Do you tip toe in the early mornings?
Tip toe through the home we share-
The floorboards you built
To absorb the stench of this death-
Our death can be beautiful
No need to hide it, love
For this is the ending, there is no beginning
Do not walk lightly
In fear the wooden floor will awaken the dead
There is Magick beneath this foundation,
But you cannot find it.
Am I two steps ahead, or too far behind?
Does my blood scare or awaken?
Are my thighs sweet only in memory
Where you once plotted our future
Your love, it built lies I could’ve lived with
But your reoccurring concern
With what is no longer yours
Are rotting beneath us
And I may mourn in silence
Masking the dissatisfaction-
Of your arrogance
The Magick you ignore
Beneath the floorboards
The cries, the whimpers, oh, the prayers
They long to be free from you-
The God you built, the altars you refuse to burn
They scream, whipping, lashing, waiting…
Earth does not want them,
And fire isn’t enough to set them free-
Set me free-
Set yourself free
She has stopped whispering our names,
Our moon is no longer full, blue or new
But beneath us you keep the graveyard-
Your smirk no longer pleases,
And I am too lethargic to describe
The twisting truth in my crooked spine
But you hear them, too, love
You hear me in the late hours of my madness,
Listening to the ghost, the lies, the souls-
You have locked inside our home.
Settle down, love
Realize this is the ending
And stop the creaking, the madness
The torment you concern yourself with-
I am nothing but a distant photo
Of your splendid youth-
Old, boney and empty is what we’ve become
If you refuse, I ask only one favor:
Let my ghost free.