Abode of Tears

Breaking glass on the evenings tavern,

I hold it up to look into it after a long time of neglecting,

My platinum smudge on a bubble-pink shard,

That turns red with alacrity.

We all dry down sometimes, she whispers to me,

To being seeds in the mothers womb

And stay there to grow again on some spring/summer day

Maybe the next

After this, I hope,

Maybe the next…

The sun dips into its blue note,

And stays at the point where affection transcends pain,

That crazy kind of affection, that rises into madness.

And everything falls from here,

A bitter-sweet joy aborted and flung into silence

Of blue-black blood and obliterated wounds.

My reprieve lies in my desolate womb now,

The home before home,

Before life,

Before my past,

In the abode of raucous tears.

Now Listening: Radiohead

“Either way you turn, I will be there,

Open up your skull, I will be there,

Climbing up the walls.”