I taste you on my lips,
and you can only remember
me from the last time we met.
A memory of red and clear
as I stand over the edge
of my own thoughts.

A ruby that dances in
my tongue as I savor
the last drop that mixes
with my doubt and sadness.
Yet in the misery state
I can only think of hope.

So as demons fly and angels
whimper over the state of
my deprived yet complex soul
I'll tell you one thing that
will shock you into my world.

I'll tell you that ancesters
young and old will never understand,
that I am what others will be
in the desperate hours of youth.
I am the victim of society,
and I am the victim of life.

So I offer you another drink
as the last harvest moon
drowns me in it's pale glow.
I am yours and you are mine.
I am the liquor that blends
into your mind as I laugh at
your plight.

I am in the end the victim of
your own imagination of all
miserable hopless creatures that
you destroyed in your heel of triumpant obligation.
I am your jaded doll of
vent and joy.

So I'll die a thousand times,
because in the end you need me
to be your sacrifical lamb.
I'll be your blame when I burn
on the burning tree.

I'll be the end of your hatred.
I'll be the one that you'll never
love in the end.

10/16/2004

Posted on 10/16/2004
Copyright © 2024 Christopher Shin