Melanchorama

I'm worn and still and watching as a lone bull calf wobbles in traffic, saving the world with pity, pat pat, a roadside rose unfurled and trembling, no plastic ribbons or chocolate around her, how weird, red signs on passing trees, tacky tack tack

I could cut diamond in my mind today. Black and ruthless, the swell and ebb of sorrow deep inside me, that runs a harsh road with the jackals of yesterday, wailing for lost days, picking at leftover dreams, it pants and puffs, wheezed snatches of song, all blended into one, one pain, one drawn out defeat to dance with to feel, too much time to breathe,

The night is my master, I do his bidding I bow to his every whim, he bows to mine. He holds me close in his shadow, he blends me in his every scene, I am part of his set, I am that prop that bites, I am your blood unspilled yet. I am the wrong side of the sun that never feels the heat, only a faint mocking light marking the close of day, always close, always closed the day, so close, always

Black cloaks my body and warms my soul, I'm only seen when I must. I am the evil in your careful moonlight vigil, I am the heart of your madness, the looming ghost of your hapless dreams

It ain't a demonic dance, o cowering one, its a dolorous defeat today, of me, my peace, my walk of shame, you don't figure in my theater of blame, move on lest I am inspired to change

I fell willing into the megalomanic trap, oh the beckoning beauty, my Everlook glade with its Mirror of Secrets, it shows only black, the form has dissolved somehow, or was it everything I lack, maybe the light that left first

Please stand up those who feel they don't deserve any pain, for their life, so I may pick you off for blatant falsehood

Greatness, the Identity Crisis, they no longer figure in my brain, mine is an Identity Carnival, with prancing leprechauns and an eternal submachine laid gently beneath a bed a black roses, worshipped with fervent love. Revenge, it chatters at forty below, is a dish best served cold

There is a link to another life hidden somewhere here in these grand ruins. I close my eyes and fumble cautiously, cut glass and wet dirt. The future is a futile place, or maybe just my search. There is a presence somewhere here, curled just out of reach, unnecessary serendipity sprinkled in like glitter on a graveyard,

I waver in the day without one single prayer, no soothsayer, the strain is getting terrific, even for a champion delayer, now I only wait for night to dissolve me again, delude my pain, those days of desultory waste under a tree, no longer exist, only the tree does, those people do, who are not me, why?

I'm waiting. Long and longer, for a stage that doesn't exist, never did, never will, Lorelei till the piggies come home, was it a losing hand at birth, desperation striking vice, or the colors I picked out for my cradle, black and blue

Mortal drama has me in her grips, she won't let go till I'm bought and sold, she says, were you never told? you are what you say, no dark alleys, no mysteries