To: the Bass Player
Put me through the crusher –
Break me down to ashes, to dust,
To the inconsequential crumbs on your plate...
I have become less than nothing,
A speck on your windscreen, a ghost
Tangled in gossamer flesh, with a broken heart
Clutched between her fingers...
You broke that poor weeping heart,
You broke my spine -
You mangled my soul into bleeding ribbons
And then you simply forgot...
I was thrown on your pyre and burned,
Melted down to fragmented memories,
To a tawdry reflection you maybe glance at now and then
I was never a person, never alive...
To you I was an empty vase with no voice to call my own
I had no life ‘til you appeared, isn’t that right –
You were my angel, my epiphany,
My brief moment of heady transcendence...
You brought my wooden soul to life
Isn’t that what you believe...?
You, the man with hollow eyes,
The vacuous rock star wavering on his pedestal of cracked glass –
You are radiant with brittle self-importance
And though you tore me to shreds, idly,
And though I may lie here in this graveyard of shattered hearts,
I am more alive than you –
I blaze with vital incandescent grief
And with my ripped wings I am more an angel,
Fallen, than you could ever be
So though you soar above me on your tawdry Icarus wings –
The sun is burning bright,
And your halo has but a tarnished gleam...
My beauty, your final fall awaits...
Copyright © Amy Van De Casteele | Year Posted 2009
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