Solace

I am blind,
stumbling along this
collision of mental substance,
breathing in grains of
crystallized vitriol

preserved in a coat of
sweet, sweet conjecture
marked by sharp, hurtful smiles
and imagined back pain
mumbling along this
line of facetious strategy

gripe and bemoan
like you've never had oatmeal so hot,
about your lackluster "thumbs up!" attitude
derailed and severed finger-
nails to the bone.

sewage is a mixture of human waste
including tangled hair and other
leave-the-dinner-table subjects
not unlike your dreams of grandeur:
your pedestal of unattainable farce

yet you can't see the drab shift in my eyes
when the sun sets the sky ablaze with inspiration
and I let it pass me by like some
stressed caregiver
hoping nevery day to find you dead or complacent

and approach you with the tepid tiptoe of
a rookie assassin, mistakenly choosing the floorboards
with the weakest support
or were they words?
so now I'm mute and less the fool broad Sr.

--

Take my hand, the moon is full.
let's walk across the shore and into the welcoming ocean
there, the salt of your tears will
buckle under the vast approach of asphyxiating rapture
as solitude and insignificant impact are brazen upon your cheek

--

we hurtle through time
and only measure it in numbers we can see.
so, for one quantum, I hope you can see me
covered in shame and regret
before I smile and claim none the wiser,
that everything I do is unintentional.