Lit-Lovers-4-Life

I wore bright yellow to a funeral of black trenchcoat stares looking like a ray of sunshine after a stormy day. Though you can hear thunder at the altar - words spit lightning to a nonchalant audience. My back row seat shines like an undying lighthouse peering into blackened seas: a will is read and once still faces brighten of dollar signs - payday is here and it's time to cash out. A psalm becomes an auctioneers sermon as the roving black mass churn like Wall Street holding up raffles and begging for a piece of American pie -  I'm just waiting for it to come crashing down.    Let them fight and their blood run    as col

 Shelf life is defined as, "the length of time a particular product is given before it is deemed unsuitable for one to consume or use." As usual I took this concept a little further and applied it to relationships. Because, according to The Beatles and Hallmark, all we need is love. Or is there more? I'd definitely say my life is saturated with much more than just love itself. I double dip in an array of adjectives and nouns as I please. It's not that I'm a complete cynic; it's just that I haven't had the "aha!" moment yet. In the romantic sense that is. I have some of the greatest platonic supports in my life. Giant pillars be damned. Wh

The funeral. It is raining. Black coffin, black you, black me. Nobody else. A church bells are ringing. We're looking indifferently on the coffin. No flowers, no tears. Maybe a little sorry. Sand have already covered the coffin lid. It is raining harder. This is the end. Everything is over. Each of us is going in a different direction. Without any glance. Without saying goodbye. We have already buried our love.

Somewhere in the world there is a war, houses are going to pieces, forests are burning, people are dying. And they are going, holding hands and smiling - lovers.

What if I tell you I love you? What if I hold your hand? What if I try to see me in your eyes? Will you repel me? Will you punish me? Will you hurt me? What if I catch your soul? What if I eat your heart? What if I coop you in the gold cage? Will you hate me? Will you try to escape? Will you leave me? What if I tell you I am the Beast? What if I kill you? What will you do then?

This man not only walked alone, but his memories haunted him. He had a shattered dignity and walked without a limp. He hung his head down as he walked through the shadowed alleys of the resting city. You see this man in black here, he had a ghost, or so he thought. I'm not too sure if it's a ghost or just a silhouette in his brain from where she regularly stood by him. She hasn't passed, she's just gone. Who needs closure anyway?

What should I say, when it's been said before? I'll elaborate although I'm not too sure why. I'll say something catchy and clever, and catch you off guard, but it's only new to you if you've never heard it. I'll pronounce myself God, and let people choose to follow. I could recite a folk story about a toad in his boat, or twist a phrase in such a way and in its daze find meaning, but in the end, what does that make me? The discoverer of something previously discovered. I want to see change, and every word is the same; the only change is time. I may state something different, something "new", but I am nothing. I am the existence of something