Wasted Youth
Life is a cell with beige padded walls,
and the sky is an upside down painting
by a paranoid schizophrenic…
Every breath is cement, clogging my throat –
And my heart beats a withering dirge
Devoid of passion, I ooze through these halcyon days,
Bewildered by the emptiness,
By the pure blood singing in my veins –
By the quiet…
Solitude wraps her gossamer noose around my throat,
Chuckling girlishly, gives it a playful jerk
Death slips me a Mona Lisa smile, and I start to wonder –
What if I smiled back…?
I have become a caged animal, accustomed to the bars,
Resigned to an empty existence of scratched walls
And fetid food
My heart squats in my chest smoking a cigarette – it wishes –
And remembering erratic flights of madness,
When life and oblivion got tangled up in knots
And screwed their way into a blood-red dawn
My skin hangs like sludge off my coat-rack bones,
A shabby overcoat concealing the decay,
It yearns for the illegitimate caress of a stranger…
And my soul, poor lost child, she lies on her death bed,
Translucent with dismay,
And pines for a last-ditch stab at the glorious tournament
Of tender self destruction,
Masochism’s giddy thrill,
And the blood-iron scent of my own mortality –
Life’s too short to spend it wishing you were dead
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