Keeping My Grip

I didn’t ask for this,

exquisite bliss,

a masochist,

inhibited by facts,

or this

fiction I create

is limitless.

A tragic twist;

these were words

that I used as a catalyst.

I never knew you,

never proved to

be what I had promised.

Just another lie,

another slight of hand,

another trick

sought on demand.

I defied all of it

and never lost my wits.

I’m a conundrum,

past this plastic

pathetic humdrum.

Maybe someone

can hear me

clearly, I have reached the bottom

of this sea of consciousness

I’m lost in never ending conflicts,

contradicting all I ever said

with actions that acquit.

 

I’m baseless now,

faceless,

make this out

to be my final great denounce

from all the subtle struggles

I have muddled through

escapist clouds.

Denied the inside,

never thought my pride

would make my case,

it counts

my days,

my numbers,

one by one

I’ve slumbered

only waking

to be shunned

by life

and everyone,

but never holding close

to what I’ve chosen.

I’m the only son

of a world that bred insanity

so plainly framed in every dawn.

 

What has it cost me?

I’ve been lost

and falsely

tossed aside,

then raised up lofty.

Lines of a mind accosted,

all we see

are shadows of our bodies.

Reflections of what we want

to be,

adult with child’s eyes.

Denied the truth,

because it’s costly.

Burned by fired that left us this

and once again

we find new flesh to covet.

All of it,

a trap,

a snare

of soft and fertile comfort.

 

How I wonder

what we night be

inside and under

that soft skin we’re in.

The sin begins

to beggar our discovering.

So mad,

so long,

so what?

I’m making it all up

as I fumble along,

more trouble than I’m taught

to haul along.

Every word is golden,

grip is strong;

I’m holding on.

 

HG – 2016

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