You Will Be the Last
Feel my curling vines surround this unyielding fence
For years they have been tightly gripped against your rust
Above us, a darkened raincloud,
Threatening lightning and stinging sorrows…
Though instead of indifference, I feel the aftermath of your thunder
That back-staged happiness, when we are no longer pretending
And I hear your prolonged exhalation behind me…
It teases me…my heart pumping wildly in tragic suspense
The curtains tightly drawn—the crowd suddenly gone…
You replace your jovial shine with a grimace
A wisp of cold wind, the only real sign that you have passed me by
Long passed me by…
I avert my eyes to the light of a window, no longer wishing to cry
No longer wanting to suspend and obsess
To fall in love, so in love
With this eternal-faced doubt and melancholy
I turn into your embrace…and yet…
It really is not an embrace at all
An ashamed unification, if anything…
A pain to look upon.. a drafty and disdainful view
As if my existence upon yours is your lethal trepidation
I rest my eyes away from you now
And I feel the grip of my vines…
I feel how tightly they hold you…
I smell the fragrance of my monomaniac squeeze
And I feel the grip of my vines…..
loosen…
Averting my eyes entirely, I lean into another soul to let you go
Though your thunder often rumbles my way…
And your lightning clashes and crushes me
The happiness in your eyes shriveling my thorns of defense
Knowing that my absence has caused this…relief…
And suddenly…the thought of this other wisps through…
Such a strange choice of soul to fixate on…
Yet there you are—yet you were always there…
Engraving life into my ever-bleeding stalks
Try not to get too close, my friend…
I refuse to strangle you too…
You will be the last where the gloomy clouds loom
You will be the last to take in my degrading scent
You will be the last to see me cry
You will be the last to pass me by
Try not to gaze as my vines surround you…
Not quite touching you in fear of what may come next
As I rest my eyes…remember…
It is in your power to slip right on through
When my eyes lift, I shall expect no open curtains
These eyes shall never anticipate a complete production
My thunder will zoom past you
Behind you, and over you
And the remnants of earlier sighs…
Shall be the winds of your passing by…
You will be the last…
And the very best is always last
Feel my curling vines grip what truly matters…
No fence stands between us now.
January 14, 2015
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
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