Xplore
Bluelighter
First glance.
Right on the dot.
The poison arrow shot.
I didn’t realize - I’m hit!
I’m hit, but not down till years later.
That gentle night,
Hope raised its hand.
I knew it always lies to me,
But lie so sweet won’t be denied.
Won’t be denied, until the years later.
Initial bliss.
Permission kiss.
Warm rushes, weak knees.
The chance of happy future - blinding.
But not binding, as we can tell years later.
Love’s Gone Awry!
It should be like a warning sign
Glorified with neon lights or prayers
Protecting hapless victims yet to come,
Keep Out - Wretched Soul Gone Mad!
Another hit, another bump, a sign
Printed on the metal sheet, outside, by the door
The house trashed,
[1 Nightmare St, Chaos City]
disordered, petals strewn evoking bliss,
and reproduction,
where none exists, but confusion does.
And what is this...No rime, no reason,
Sad paragraph, a weird phase out of whack?
why me? Questions, chaos, pain,
degeneration, a possible relapse?
False profit Hope
beaten to a bloody pulp,
To never speak another fucking word.
Unbearable.
Inverted pain of generations,
That bleeding spot where the arrow shot,
The silent killer that started so naively.
Unbearable, but feeling better, really, years later.
And so it goes,
Same story yet again
Retold, but never old, never done,
With victim last sighted in the night
Repairing house, cleaning pulp and petals,
Just now, in the later years.
Right on the dot.
The poison arrow shot.
I didn’t realize - I’m hit!
I’m hit, but not down till years later.
That gentle night,
Hope raised its hand.
I knew it always lies to me,
But lie so sweet won’t be denied.
Won’t be denied, until the years later.
Initial bliss.
Permission kiss.
Warm rushes, weak knees.
The chance of happy future - blinding.
But not binding, as we can tell years later.
Love’s Gone Awry!
It should be like a warning sign
Glorified with neon lights or prayers
Protecting hapless victims yet to come,
Keep Out - Wretched Soul Gone Mad!
Another hit, another bump, a sign
Printed on the metal sheet, outside, by the door
The house trashed,
[1 Nightmare St, Chaos City]
disordered, petals strewn evoking bliss,
and reproduction,
where none exists, but confusion does.
And what is this...No rime, no reason,
Sad paragraph, a weird phase out of whack?
why me? Questions, chaos, pain,
degeneration, a possible relapse?
False profit Hope
beaten to a bloody pulp,
To never speak another fucking word.
Unbearable.
Inverted pain of generations,
That bleeding spot where the arrow shot,
The silent killer that started so naively.
Unbearable, but feeling better, really, years later.
And so it goes,
Same story yet again
Retold, but never old, never done,
With victim last sighted in the night
Repairing house, cleaning pulp and petals,
Just now, in the later years.
