An Homage to the Lost Pearls of Wisdom on Ancient Computers
Abort!
This collapsed coping mechanism has left me alamort
I was just a shameful conjugal visit
And a muse for playing with fire
You never questioned me and that's how I know you’re not innocent
You're a walk on a frozen pond;
Irritated on the surface but internally pernicious
I'm an autotelic where my adulation is the dripping ink
And your scorn is the water running over it
Be your own crisis hotline when the shame kicks in
And pierces me like a non-reciprocal “you are not alone in this”
Museum of shortcomings or gallery of honorable attempts?
Ineffable, but I can’t help myself
Relaying this information is the only way I can move on
I'm seeing glimpses of something I should talk to in the corner
But the hand I'm extending has the strength of a signal fire underwater
This can’t be how this ends
I'm disturbingly calm because the dejection hasn't kicked in yet
I put your name on the bullet
so everyone knows you were the last thing that went through my head
You're lacking daytime context
With a fallible idiolect
Pick up a book and read
So a tree can sigh relief that there's life after death
Will heaven open up if I try to heal by decathecting?
My throat is raw from screaming to gods who just aren’t listening
Burdened in ustulation while you pare me from earth's core
It's everything you and distance wanted and more
I'm seeing glimpses of someone I could relate to in the corner
But I’m dissected by the dichotomic voices of psychosis versus candor
Maybe this really is how it ends;
Dying lethargically as I look at the nonexistent watch on my hand
Because time is a construct
Like the plot we say we lost but we outgrew it before we learned how to love
The immortality of fiction is beautiful but cruel
The tacendas come in slicing but they leave just as quickly
The remedies leaves me gutted and demoralized like dangling poultry
A tear dilates into a lake of drowning imposter syndrome
Do you admire me like falling snow?
Or find me too fervidly frigorific to get to know?
Ironic because the visions of you in my head
Are so chilling, I get delusional
and start ripping off my clothes
My tongue lost the motivation of sound before I could even think
I'm an autotelic where my adulation foreordains the dripping ink
Copyright © Matthew Bailey | Year Posted 2024
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