Cold Porridge

Like some perverted flasher in a big City Park,

I exposed too much too fast;

no one really wants the truth

only seeking their perception of what they belive it is.

 

Creating its endless cycle,

building up sandcastles

then smashing them

 only to start again,

lead once more by broken perception

into the blistering darkness.

 

With no lantern to guide your way

you fumble in the dark

having finally proved life’s thesis,

it has no second chances,

there is no script; instead,

we are all forced to figure it out on our own.

 

Nothing more than a nesting doll

where each face hides the pain for the next,

pull each off until you reach the bone.

 

No subtle deception left to hide within,

just another rainy night

waiting for the promise of a new day.

 

Would it have been better if I had meted out my mind in smaller bites;

but would that even be true

when I am all or nothing…

 

maybe its wrong but I would rather know up front,

I need someone

that will not back down

from the garbage that’s piled upon my soul,

because I would not back down from yours.

 

All I know

is I can only settle

for the kind drives up the pace of your heart

on the prospect of the next meeting,

a love that never needs a crutch but

always runs sided by side,

one without sharp edges

just that gentle embrace

which blends two souls into one.

 

Last Sunday I met the ghost of Christmas past,

but she never saw me as anything more than second best.

I hated that feeling

either intentional or self-inflected

it was where I laid the first bricks of my cracked perception,

that any moon could be blue and

every chance was just over the horizon,

but perhaps its just the fool who starves himself

waiting for a feast that will never come

when he could learn to deceive himself and

turn to porridge instead.

 

I could just as easily sprout wings and fly;

I only know how to move in one direction,

and I only have two speeds.