I. The History

Heavy layers, one over another, weave themselves throughout us
where emotionally we are shaped like slabs of wet concrete
with strangers leaving their initials and footprints as they come and go

The silhouette of my soul hovers within my body
pushing against the upper parts of my back and shoulders
like a helium balloon trying to get past a ceiling

I’ve used flesh to manipulate the art of pleasure and pain to strike far down into my core
trying to reach down into the part of me that aches for true color
The result of such vanity hangs like abstract paintings in a gallery
where everyone is interpreting my message all wrong to suit their own needs

II. The Art

I am held up by blue rings just barely dangling over your dilate beauty
moved by laugh lines through the picket whiteness of the sun
and I can’t bring myself back to where I am usually sane and alone

I sought you out with the naive intentions of machining down love
I took the parts I could work with and made them pliable like sheet metal
rubbing out the blemishes so I could see myself in you

I try to smile at our moments rewinding with the smell and taste of you still on me
where weight pressed skin all over bringing every sensation by breath and heat to climax
my face flushed and youth radiant I can barely recognize the man in the reflection

III. The Flight

Four walls white where no frames have found a picture I sit on the edge of my bed
Eyes are drawn to the window where a moth causes shadows to dance on the blinds
making dark images twenty times his size because he flies too close to a light outside

From the darkness it must have seemed like a good idea
but the mountains of emotion threw off Magnetic North
and now he no longer knows what should move him

I imagine this 10-minute display must feel like years in the making for wings so small
just like my arms are tired of holding on right now and I just need to be held
but when the body tries to reach salvation ignoring the heart
you’ll end up burning yourself over and over on false light and manufacturing false love

01/30/2005

Posted on 01/30/2005
Copyright © 2024 Scott Cadence