Latecomers to the Party Always Have the Most Say

To Be Sung Under Moonlight

Love-
the word balanced on her lips like a shipwreck
or the uneasy captain responsible for leading the crew to it's death
Grandiose in it's design, flawed by the very same hands
that catapulted it's importance into our psyche.

We've spent years building this, we've toiled
under unforgiving suns and across desolation,
to the places where only the wind visits,
and whispers are few and far between.

So, here on our hands, is the blood of our generation.
It was inevitable, from the start this was tinged with
the possibility of failure. And there are no need for apologies
or hand-wringing, as we're responsible for all that has happened.
And the sky cracks, much to the delight of every uninformed onlooker.

They wake up every day, and sleep every night, thinking that their
way out will make it's way into their life.
Perhaps during mid-day, maybe it sneaks in with the suns' dying gasps
at the climax of each day, right before the moon begins it's campaign.
They rest assured, content in themselves, plastered smiles and misplaced
faith.

These are the most foolish, they who buy into love. Swindled by the most treacherous con-man.



The Pieces of my Wish.

If I could,
I'd build a ladder to
that damn
star
that overlooks
my home
looking at me through my window

Eluding me,
So confident
in it's
arrogance, all the while
taunting me.

I'd climb up the ladder,
blade between my teeth
and make that damn
star
apologize

For
all
the times I fell
onto the sidewalk because
of
looking at
that damned
star.





Product Placement in my Casket

Your wish is to be dignified
keep your fingers crossed
and your heart open for
closure.

Beg and plead, then
drag
your self back home.

And I'm weak
but
I'm climbing out of your throat,
screaming
and weary.