Poetry Wednesdays: ‘I Can’

This one is a little different to usual. Interpret as you will.

I Can

I can feel it, the dripping death of this.
Succumbing to the senseless seeping.
It’s acidic. I’m acidic.
I never saw the cracks. Only the crumbling.
There’s more rubble than there was structure.
Devastation embodied.
All in my head. All in your head.
All in their heads too.
Sidelong glances and unwhispered questions.

I can taste the mixed melancholy.
Reaping and sowing the misunderstood.
It becomes me. It absolves me.
I’m clawing at my neck. A rash of obscurity.
I can’t see the emotion.
Empathetic purgatory.
Overkill on time. The loss and recovery,
Of rhythm, of senses, of heart.
Tantalizingly tall, will you return?

I can touch the unforgotten eulogies.
They’re solid and stoic.
Invincible. Unrelenting.
The memory is immortal, a man-made murderer.
The unnatural wonder of humanity.
Chronic insanity.
Nothing and everything left.
Being nothing is easier than seizing everything.
You won’t. The page says you won’t.

I can hear the overactive cogs.
Whirring with pain.
Over analysis. Sarcastic similes.
Vision impaired and predefined conclusions.
I hope they burn.
Siphoned wildfire.
My head will never turn away.
The decision sits in the lap of the sun.
Blaze beyond comprehension? Or bite their lips?

 

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