I wrote this last night at four in the morning. It's reactionary, really. It isn't profound by any means, but it is reflective of my emotions last night. Interesting. In retrospect, I mean.
Today I saw the real you-
for the first time
in a long time.
From behind green lenses.
More like bloodied spyglasses.
I screamed-
a silent sound
heard by none-
cloak-and-dagger to the masses.
Besmeared by immorality;
muted by guilt.
Why do you affect me so?
I mustn't affect you.
You draw me towards you-
in flesh,
in spirit.
Magnetized by empathy;
birthed by curiosity:
I want to help you-
however unrequited
I see why
He thinks you His muse.
Perpetually emboldened;
cheerlessly striking.
I know not of your diyad-
only of its profundity.
You are hurting.
Innocence becomes you.
Suddenly broken is my melancholy telescope-
never without the camouflages of night-
often finger-painted green-
stupefied by abundant intellect-
animated by distant stars.
The silver lands heads-up
in the coin-toss of rationale.
The two emeralds tarnish,
rather than supplicate the addiction,
back to their charnel-house receptacle.
Hand-in-hand
my heart doth follow.
'Cross to a new saturnine catacomb;
a sabbatarian valley of condolence.
Therein intellect seesaws
against the imminence of mercy.
It's flickering now,
a lantern formerly agleam,
flitting like a lily-white songbird-
in extremis.
'Tis a slow suicide.
Replenish your incandescence
or let it be snuffed-
by the heel of oppression,
by the blanket of society!
Aggrieve you? I won't.
I mustn't.
Instead I'll attend to your afflictions.
Because you are beautiful-
especially through emerald-smeared optics.
My heart yearns at you.
My heart yearns for you.
My heart yearns without you.
I envy you.
