Flitting through a static existence
Just splitting the minutes
Over honey drenched lips, pouting —
Treating forgiveness like a wound
They are stained with subtleties
Ill-prepared to meet these strangers
Upon salt-addled streets with cracking spines.
Still I stand before sour smiles;
Grins like gashes gouging grey apathy
Where the contemplation of hope
Cradles the temptation of loss
Like a eulogy sung in a minor key
The melancholy tragedy of devastation
Spitting Godless creations at my feet
Like unforgiving riddles.
And with reputations balanced on
The delicate prick of a thumbtack
Resting bravely where breathing betrays;
Where honesty belies interpretation
You tell me friendship can only be
A surrender; you use it like legal tender
While I stitch and mend here at seams unseen,
Burrowing through the in-between
While you furrow your brows deeper at me.
But upon my mantle sits eternity in condemnation,
And it begs no forgiveness,
It offers only indifference
While it rolls monotony like molasses over Monday mornings;
While it picks the glass from graffiti’d dumpsters
And holds it to the sky like a sighing diamond on a dark Sunday;
While it defies her manipulated madness;
While it denies his contrived crisis of convention
And prevents him from setting the sun to bed on the horizon
So no tomorrow can come to offer forgiveness
Or to witness the birth of beauty
Because it knows this isn’t living —
It’s the gift of a static existence to sit with
But I will not visit staleness in perpetuity
And this tapestry of apathy won’t become me
Your watercolour sin wont overcome me
And I beg no forgiveness for all you have done to me.
theartofmadeline
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