Sunday, June 3, 2012


The tension is building
Like a grecian vase of flowers
And like a great ice berg
Having crashed into the sea
Is suddenly, visciously, violently
Broken into piece after piece
So is my soul
Upheaved towards the immortal sun
And eaten by their salt-caked mouths
A thousand thousand children
With such thirsty mouths
And still they spit out the water
My water
As I slowly melt away
Day after day after day
Dripping along my fingers
Down into their abyssmal throats
Until they spit it out again
Spit it in my face
And I grow ever so much smaller
And I know the steam of frustration
And I know the taste of rejection
And I know the empty sepulcher is my mouth
And I know the broken windows are my eyes
That lead to the hollow of my soul
So I drip down
A thousand thousand time I burn their lips
The sting of my water on their broken mouths
Let them at least spit my water back for reason
Let it burn them, hurt them, and not give them life
Let them hate how they long for me
Let them love how they hate what they have longed for
Let the meat of the quail pour from their nostrils
And I shall keep on melting
Letting these rivulettes pour off my back
Coalesce with the sea
I shall taste the salt of their tears
And I shall bathe in the rivers of Pontus
Until my icy coat has fallen
Until my dissolution is completed
My destruction christened
As they keep spitting with thirsty throats
The tension is building
Like a grecian vase of flowers
Held in the hand of Dorian Grey

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