The empty profession

Dark eyes shift, landing, eventually, upon the slim features of another girl in a long line of fleeting relationships.

Times whiled with fast pace, time spent with shapely grace and tender lace that quickly turns to ash, pure trash; lipstick mark and enlightened dark.

Nothing but a lost soul and me; a shark.

Its a stark Contrast that can't last;

A minute, an hour or a lifetime too fast, ignoring a voice that reminds of my past, full of punch lines and stalemate, leaving early but ending all too late.

I’m not tender as her slender form shades oblique, a refugee amongst waving sigh and announced unique.

I found it in my mind; sleeping but awake, faking for the take, making just to break.

Ending? 

Alone and cold; both sold and on hold.

Still... a bolder statement than you’ve ever told.

Author's Note

I wanted to give this poem a certain sense of detachment from reality; as though he doesn't want to admit what he is really doing, but rather focuses on the chaotic energy and art of it all. Time, colours and imagination all blur, and in the end his narrative speaks loudly; even though it's all fruitless and disjointed, the boldness is to be admired; this is someone with stories to tell.