Living Out of the Dark

 

 

Living Out of the Dark-

 

 

The darkness through my veins runs,

Because they crackle with a cloudy semblance . . .

 

They are unable to be fuse from a light-

Because that is not what their owner sees,

And my adrenaline does not run with-

A sunlight . . .

 

For my arteries burst with the sound of some kind of a thick,

Juicy, kinetic energy that rushes,

Throughout my system like a black wire,

Deeply entrenched in a wet darkness,

That seeps from my body like a rainbow now wrung out-

Through gallons of saddened water,

And which no longer shines-

Although I can only wish that the-

Oh, how badly I can wish. . .

The watery wrung out semblances

Coursing throughout my soul now,

Were made from the leftover sunlight,

That once filled my bosom.

 

I wish not they were formed,

From the sunlight that once filled my soul,

Rather than the drifting highlights,

Which pale from the last, lingering reflection-

And not that of the original image.

 

I wish . . .

That what runs through me now,

Was made from a pure light,

One that I could still envision . . .

And not merely one that lives

Off what’s leftover . . .

 

Of that which I had once,

Crackled with daily, my veins ecstatic,

With a vital electricity and zest for life . . .  

 

My veins are made out of the darkness, now.