artes

It's one of those dumb August nights again Not a wind in the sky, and the power's out I thought about you again today It isnt something you do. Is your memory of mine just a wisp of smoke? Sweet as the honey I taste, but overshadowed nonetheless? I am your cigarette butt You kiss me like your life depends on it Every breath Every kiss is one It delights you, it refreshes you As i burn Burn bright at your lips But when i can burn no more You throw my ashes away I truly am your spectator in the lowlights I know you love me, whatever that confounded idea of love you have in your mind I hate you for making me love you so deeply. I hate you for leaving me here with these people who won't let me sleep any more. If I could just close my eyes the world would disappear and I could stop hurting. I want to sleep. Make those people down stairs leave me alone and let me sleep. They gave me drugs to sleep once when I first knew, and in disbelief called them liars. They gave me more drugs to keep me calm and awake as I faced your body And saw it engulfed by flames and ashes spilled from fingers to the winds on this mountain we both once called home, in more innocent times.

There are no drugs now to numb the pain Sleep which beckons me deeper into oblivion has been withdrawn by constant company and chatter that goes on around me. I do not truly hear it, or understand it as I sit and stare at the macabre forced smiles. Their smiles and consoling words, like blades some blades are funny some cause history And history is every second in time. but the others, they have this tendency they lurk in the shadows a phantom of a shadow you don't know if you have them or if you need them or that it is a part of you. Where are you I wonder, will you still come for me? I would go happily just now, Even though the vital and living hands of so many try to hold me to this place, I would fly to you my love just to feel your embrace. I have read too much poetry of late. Perhaps I should share with you... Maybe you would find me there Just like we used to.

Musings of Artes Blackheart. My ode to Daxayoni.