Silver Subway

I recall standing outside of the train station and just thinking....thus, this is the result of that I suppose.

Transitory
this position presents itself as such
does the wind take the highway across a starlit city that I find no connection
beautiful en passe, but worthless without the artistic perfection
there's a smile at the base of this
something I present but never truly embody
enriched with the sludge I find myself constantly mired
buried beneath the trenches and tablets I have strewn across today's table
corpse of the dawn holds the still birth of misleveled penetrations
proving relevancy doesn't exist
atttractions saunter skylines in remiss
when I was 15, I wrote about all the imperials left from a childhood tryst
that I didn't initiate, didn't invite or defend
transforming the empty I didn't understand into places that made more sense
alternate reality made the negativity palatable
most days I wish I would have stayed in it
closet space for one
bed never made
perfection never achieved; to my father's adage I've become a slave
or maybe the constant disappointment has transfixed the shiny
new, glory and vagrant
constantly longing for a sense of belong has cracked outside of me
when I was 19, I wrote about love
4 letters that have proven non-existent in a world I forever emaciate
to allow in the broken
tried to see it through the eyes he used to see me
It wasn't about us then
I made it about you
It was about me then
and this is just the arrangement of a wounded, slightly damaged recluse
when I was 24, I wrote about death, the embitterment of wayward souls that nestle within my self neglect 
unworthy passengers find that when we collide, I will strip myself bare to allow tar to infest my mind
and I will continuously lose myself to each of you. 
I've done it everytime
forgoing the ability to breath, finding it easier to drown
not accepting the remains I have dusted over the soil
cannot resurrect when you stand in the defications 
deranged, here I bow over morrow's time affliction
finding light in the rhyme that spins wool over my eyes
at 27, I write about the things I once said could not change
the experiences that harshened my days, my pain
the love that never came
under layers of recessed depravity, breathe in and out
bustling of foreign light calls to me
arranging flowers on this headstone, waiting for the new colors to replicate
but they wither
it withers
Withered, rotten am I
bright blood streaming down my wrists
droplets unsettled 
crash this vessle, amend my constitution to allow admirable me
these unwanted passengers have carved a hole somewhere....
and I'm not strong enough today to stop a derailment 
collapsed lungs through crashed seas.

Reviews

[Jack Frost]

love LOVE the structure, and the last few lines *shivers* love it.