Do you think it is my easiest move,
Walking with this weight?
Not on these weary shoulders,
But on a heart beating unfairly:
Poetry has run off the page –
Every romantic mysticism
(and my head has been flooded with no angst,
But the pathetic cries of an invisible man
And his imperceptible laments, no close to saving
And no close to ageing) disappears under black eyelids.
Rare music is here; laughter strikes my eardrums
And carves harsh lines into my very brain,
Pathways mimicking the real, older paths.
Yet, the amusement has birthed this blue paint;
Every escape fell further than the work.
Distance has not hindered us before,
Rather, the ghosts rattling my skull
Tumble – so far between our souls they stretch.
They tear me, and this dark chasm and this
Nothing, when I filled myself with the mental burnout,
I burrowed inside from the hurt;
Now physical work has me twisting my imagination.
All I have done is powered by our memories,
Cause and effect has ruined me – and its linear whisper.
The weight we bear together –
Buying time with our broken controls –
I have carried this for too long,
But I'd rather miss the two of us
Than pull an absent smile and see it
Pour from its owner.
But distance has caused this brain death.
I forget what you taught me once
And play the catty games I used to;
Is this attention, a deficit, or a dangerous disorder?
Opinions broaden themselves –
I am bubbling for your release.
I need this distance to abolish,
For this weight to be eased,
For my furious tongue to cried out better remedies.
My overcast mentality needs
A second – third – opinion; when you and I
Joined the ranks of intellectualism.
For this physical gain has spiritual loss,
A loss beyond my blind wits:
Only your pages of depthless sanity will stop heaviness;
Perhaps then, no glass scars would fall over our blood.