The Countdown To The End

How short life can be when your young and free.

Eternal night surrounds us as we are the lost and forsaken.

A false son shines upon us as we walk through our lives.

The cities become our playground and the alleys our roads.

We shroud ourselves in blacks, reds, and deep blues.

Our universal heart beats along with our headphones.

We step in time with one another as a unified family.

Dance is the only language we know how to speak.

We show each other our love with our bodies.

Our food comes in capsules and we drink from glass bottles.

We laugh in pleasure as we delve further into our sins.

 

We sleep by day, and run by night.

Locks are our toys and glass is our outlet.

Everything we find is ours.

We are the children of the night.

We love all things metal, cold, and hard.

Fire is our tool to be used at any opportunity.

Large open spaces and shadows comfort us.

We craze human touch, becoming intoxicated by it.

We have our own laws and code of honor.

 

Your sons and daughters will become our playthings.

They will grow and mature into our family.

They will deny you and fight you.

They will become angry and lash out at you.

Slowly their brightness will darken.

You will see them less often.

They will tell you how old they are and they can handle themselves.

Then one day they will cease to exist; gone into thin air.

 

It is the same routines over and over.

Your fighting drives us away.

Your harsh words and too high expectations stab us.

The divorce tore us, being pushed and shoved this way and that way.

It is not like you were ever there anyways; always at work.

If you were not working; you were drinking or high.

We got tired of being beaten and abused.

 

It was not all of you though.

The freedom of this life is addictive.

we just got lost in it so far that we could not find a way out.

It consumed us until we had destroyed everything we had.

We gave it all up for fun and freedom.

We gave up what we loved for what we lusted.

 

We are too far in it now.

We are tired and weary of the world around us.

Too often we find ourselves in barred, cramped spaces.

We never grow used to the sirens that sound all around us.

We are sore from the chases; bloodied hands from all the fences.

 

Our time will come just as it does for you.

We will be killed by another’s hand or our own.

It will not be valiant or honorable.

It will be violent or pitiful.

 

We die alone in the streets and cold underground.

We have no more family to run by our side.

We deeply descend where we should have highly ascended.

 

Our eyes pour out our fearful tears.

We are reaching out to you with fingers out stretched.

 

Please, We just want someone to love us, Please!

Reviews

[Zack Burton]

You write such powerful, in-depth poetry - you really should be rewarded.

The imagery in this is incredible. Reminds me very much so of Ginsberg's "Howl," which, if you haven't already, is a must-read for any poet.

Perhaps my favorite line is: "We love all things metal, cold, and hard." I don't know why, but it's very good. The whole thing is very good, as a matter of fact, and your skills deserve commending.