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Empty Glass
My sad, deplorable glory is a nightmare for another This knowing is sickening to the bone The need for anothers' pain is like a virus Slitting the veins of truth and delirious want of false Watching the bile flow through I emptied a full, sorrowful glass for you Without even a moment’s glance Your parched lips opened to drink But like poison the sustainable exhalation surrounded your body I shrank at the shrieks of your disquietude Not knowing what to do Expression died with the loss of flow I couldn’t flourish in the bleak winters of your loss I couldn’t grow All happiness in a flash of susceptibility Turned to woe I gave into thinking it was all an unworthy dream But the answers, the symbolism was never clear The loss of your very soul is what I fear I never meant to poison you in what I take as nourishment And here now you rot At the expense of these sad, empty tunes They must mean close to nothing to you Pain Pain Why do I revolve around the pain? The empty glass of your spirits remains stained With the insides of all things true Torn away Smothered in a ghostly, ghastly gore I couldn’t see you could not take it The sorrow I meant to erase to fake it But instead make it The reason I live is to sing for you To disintegrate the swelling blue But instead I crawled into your only space Leaving only disgrace The gore splattering in jewels across your face I’ll tell you what All my achievements are naught They are only fakes I am nothing without God’s grace I spurt with illegitimate words and tunes That you can never face! As if by the heaven I inspired I am drunken with your bile Of pride risen above the mile What is this sadness— This anger, this madness? Show me what to do Show me what to say I’ll dispose of all vagaries I dared to feel today And replace it with pain Replace it with pain Discordance from another is my nightmare smothered And this the majority crave The need—the desire for acknowledgement We will take it to the grave I never wanted heartless fame A poison in a cup I never wanted anything Only to fill you up I poured the glass and there it came Just sad, tired air Nothing left to give you Not even the sentiment of a stare The truth is I am scared The truth is I am scared I guess, at times we are all. . . Not there 7/13/13
Copyright © 2024 Laura Breidenthal. All Rights Reserved

Book: Shattered Sighs