I Prefer Not To.
and here we are
yet living
on this eve of lost idyll
i am no more able
to feel your touch
than sorrowed skies retreat
the passing hours
grow ever darker
my lair has turned to dust
unsettled
roaming on this plane
alone
in search of any senseless reason
the more i look
the more i find
my mind is but a distant ruin
littered with the consequence
of time’s relentless ire
as truths unravel
by its hands
extending far beyond
the grave
where now
not even death
can stand to save us
even now
when thoughts of her
affronting love’s convention
have shuffled off
the consequence
befalling our mistake
do trails tell truth
of hours attending
context tread anew
disavowing fated remnants
lingering devoid of interest
bleeding web of understanding
weeping reaped
sown of her seed
in retroactive disillusion
memories become unraveled
like the sutures
faintly tethering us
at the tearless seam
so it seems
as days unfolding
shattered moulds
tinged with decay
hinging on pending perspectives
shifting lights shine
fears display
in the barren sands of ruin
truant cheeks
turned weak of will
baring thoughts i pray not bear
surrendered to stoic submission
drowning
in the darkness
silence
rests upon her lips
i long
to lift my leaden head
paralyzed
by thoughts of living
seconds drifting
in and out
from borrowed backgrounds
sitting in the circle
of regret
and rotting earth
thoughts of her
tormenting
pages shorn
to show an ending
spurned
still
her laughter echoes
through the frigid nights
of empty air
poisoned
by the voiceless peril
slithering through
meadows maddened
striking with a force
unfounded
never was her kiss
denied
but shallow whispers
lay awake
to court the
shadow’s song of ruin
through the forest
whence we stumbled forth
to greet the sleepless hour
wake up
just to not
give a fuck
torn
from the only place
where i have
any worth
cursed to face
isolation
without hope
for solution
in this
hypnic delusion
of my cryptic submission
cigarette-lipped confusion
fuck
it’s hard
just to type shit
this
as good
as my life gets
i can’t quit
and yet, i did
with this pill
that i swallow
maybe death
will soon follow
on a saturday morning
and she’s not in my arms
there’s a draft
slowly drifting
into yesterday’s clothes
on an old
beat-up mattress
that some rat
made its home
i had bought
a humane trap
but i can’t bear
to tear him
from his only known dwelling
because i know the feeling
in the attic of heartache
it’s a static illusion
i can’t take
much more of this
not without
her love’s solace
on a saturday
so low
with my rodent companion
i refuse to abandon
unlike her
with her hand
down the pants
of a strange man
i guess we are all victims
of a silent affliction
where we scream
but no sound comes
only numbness
of conscience
bleeding truth
in her absence
in the attic of loss
left
on a saturday
mourning
with this rat
my only friend
it’s hot outside
my heart is broken
yesterday
the news struck ground
after weeks
bound by tempest waters
ravaging resolve
her restraint
was faint at best
upon a whim’s behest
it crumbled
knowing well
the consequence
were she to sip
the spirits of chance
known to fail
my intuition
when it passed
i turned away
it was this moment
that would tear
our bond asunder
all the fire
that burned within me
now subdued
to hurt transmuted
as the bead of sweat
gathers to fall
in the periphery
from the black rimmed glasses
perched upon my face askew
also, does a tear lamenting
sent from realms
of shuttered pain
sweltering
as sorrow rings the sting
within this vacant stare
trained upon that shattered moment
shone to show her disregard
that she would allow
for all this
broken boundaries
words misspoken
token of her heart’s reflection
how do you trust
emphatic assertations
claiming of a love so vital
so unknown
safe and new
all is spoken
as though feelings
never had been felt before
for a moment
nearly falling
to the call
of evermore
pre-assembled sentiments
relentlessly unleashed
lose the power
that was never there
a flower now bereft
of petals
left to tend
the aster’s disk
man can move
the tallest mountains
make the oceans
swell with pride
etch impressions
on the surface
seen by lands
from far away
draw the blood
of life’s sustaining
plunder veins
of precious veil
arrogate
that of their choosing
reap the spoils
not of their labor
whilst denying
those in need
pluck the freedom
of the weary
bask in spoils
acquisitioned
through the treachery
of fear
e’er oppress
the sex deemed lesser
dressed in superficial robes
deviate
the disenfranchised
propagate
a web of lies
willfully mislead
a nation
painting plots
of false depiction
trampling the rights
of humans
progress
without introspection
disregarding
consequences
wrought
without critical thought
heedlessly consuming resource
bred to bleed
by way of force
commandeering
nature’s order
veering unto
undue course
man alone
possesses function
poised to foster
prosperous peace
sadly
by the will of madmen
all succumb
to reckless aims
fraught with shame
to shun the conscience
consciously exacting fate
writhing
underneath the surface
dominated by duress
misappropriated purpose
pacifying pointless pleas
compromising love’s convention
laying in a bed
of dolor
draped
in diligent denial
piling dirt
brings darkened skies
all is lost
for sake of ego
forgoing the cost
of life
flagrant fervent
self-obsession
wrought by flippant
fool’s compliance
legacy is soon forgotten
fantasy perpetuates
’til we’ve felled
our final bastion
cast away
by our own hand
in my pixellated form
i would save the world
from boredom
swarming hordes
on stormy seas
as captive of
a dream alluded
thoughts of torment
sought reprieve
in redoubt granted
by its heeding
a young mind’s wrest
in secret worlds
of vested heart
and truth obscured
the only thing
that i could hold
amid darkness
beyond control
how many like me
found escape
in plastic boxes
muted gray
to stay the wrath of
conscious realms
a fated passage
most profound
the untold burden
of their “concern”
cast the mould
struck bridges burning
grim projections
glowing screens
protection
from the wounds unseen
a NES kid
who had fought his wars
through cartridges
on broken floors
o songbird
of restive mind
thy repertoire vast
as the moonlit masquerade
cast upon the empty bed
of night
piercing requiem
tunneling through
the void
of vanquished mirth
the shrill
of sordid regrets
and disquiets
arisen
from the garden
of agateophobia
like a raving mockingbird
ravaged by truth
feathers hewn
with latent farewell
faintly clinging
to a page
from the past
sing to me
all i have lost
let each note
ring out
as once it
ran me through
before
the great fault
slid the sea
‘neath the desert
and prosody
felled
by god’s languorous sigh
where senses
once flourished
with the triumph
of Typhon
pray let thy song
lay this hardship
to rest
will we ever see beyond the trees
into the forest of illusions
set before us by ourselves
or are we simply at a loss
to bear this burden?
certainly, such implication
complicates the inferences
alluding to this state of indignation
which perpetuates the presence
of my acute consternation
do the constellations hold the key
unlocking unknown doors
to worlds beyond the chaos of existence?
is this counsel, self-contained
a crux which cancels itself out
a crutch our conscience uses
to ensconce us?
every question seems to touch
the realm of truth secluded
which eludes even those perspicacious
erring on most prudent
dedicated students of the mind
have yet to find an explanation
which defines our cosmic purpose
exponentially, our ponderance compounds
without exception
thereby instilling an exigence
unduly excess
we have set the boundaries
far beyond our wildest expectations
to the point of courting disappointment
with our inclination to usurp
our self-appointed power surreptitiously
supposing precedents unseen
which seem to propagate our dreams
so many silently believe
bereaving us of freedoms
rife with possibility
which would inspire community
instead of spurning hope for peace
sapience and salience
presumed part of our “sentience”
are scarcely exercised
or altogether compromised
despite the catastrophic impact
of our calculated actions
we continue on this fervid course
of forced dissociation
refusing to disseminate
the knowledge which facilitates
a self-sufficiency
that would, in turn, sustain society
without burning the bridges
to the people in positions
of imposed disparity based on factors
beyond their person
the irony is so profane
exceeding that which is insane
in fact, it’s that which only fools
would dare to claim not criminal
the truth of this reality
that humankind just cannot see
is every human stands to gain
when selfish hands release the reins
that led us all into substain
instead, with what we’ve stood to learn
so easily could we discern
that only through consideration
of each other, and each station
intrinsic within our being
can we truly attain freedom
kindness is not just a word
nor is it a notion absurd
it IS what all of us deserve
without it
there is only hurt
Max, or Not 
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