Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Anhedonia

I've done this for the last time, in humbled areas, in reverie
of doggy-dog lifestyles.
I've passed on glances, on peculiar men without heads or without dolls,
picking themselves off like squished beetles on bedroom floors,
where those long dark nights spit on in seclusion,
and how I would pay them too - pay them for all they've been through.

Dreams go by, but thoughts do not
- I thought I caught what he had got
- No just a living draught
- what Joe and jesus both had sought
- I'd think a candle buy a cock


Wishing like the summers do,
bedrooms white, and midnights blue,
if peace be gone then peace be true,
no one else but you, you, you.

- - -

When does love morph into insanity? When is it too much to think those thoughts, that they keep you up at night when all else is silent, when all else has closed their eyes to the world and who they hold dear to them. Aye, aye, my empty bed, empty even with me in it, keeps me trapped . . . even my dreams cannot let me go. Please my heart, let me go. Let me go . . .

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