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Brandon Edens Poem
"When our dance of love became frantic, I faltered, and you danced on my grave."
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"How did it come to this, my darling one? We may never know the answer, but with the rain in my eyes, you look so beautiful in red."
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Every direction only led further from you. Every decision was the wrong choice. My desperate pleas of reassurance were only distorted by the air between us. The harder I fought for you, the more quickly you slipped from my grasp. Every word was misunderstood. Every act was taken at face value. Every feeling was indiscernible to the naked eye.
I only have five senses with which to love you, but they lied each time at the critical moment. The desire to be understood is what led to language, but my love for you could not be conveyed by sound or image. Tomorrow's historians will look back at our path of destruction and see only hieroglyphs of war between two sworn enemies.
I never knew that the spark of hate was a slow avalanche of infinitesimal missteps that one day grows to kill you with what was once called love. That, with tears of confusion in her eyes, on cold and unfamiliar terrain, your lover, battle-dressed and mud-soaked, could hold a shaking knife to your throat, once so tenderly kissed, and scream down at you words of fury laced heavily with longing and pain.
And all you can do is bleed out love and hope for one last chance to write her name in the snow.
Copyright © Brandon Edens | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Brandon Edens Poem
The hallow husk of his once dear friend, turns its bird-like head, dark eyes intentionally resting just below his own blue-green eyes, as if it were impossible for a ghoul such as this to gaze upon anything true and alive without recognizing its own emptiness, and briefly surveys its old friend as if in judgement from a high perch; Its forked, corrosive tongue cuts through the air like poisonous darts seeking soft tissue: "You're too emotional. It's pathetic. Why are you so weak now? Nobody cares about your pain. You think too much. Just enjoy yourself."
And this thing before him, this thing that wears the skin of his old mate—that beloved friend who once had real human blood rushing through his heart, mind, and soul, that precious life water that tethers you to the great and vital river vein called Humanity—now gives a dry and short series of gasps intended to mimic a mocking laugh, full of hatred and resentment both meant to tactfully conceal jealousy and shame, but do not quite cover the lie, which only quickens its face turning away to join the others who were also dead before their time; All with the same expensively shampooed hair sleek and wet in the smokey haze of neon bar lights, sweat-stained designer clothes hiding their starving ribcages, and earrings, necklaces, chains, watches, and countless finger rings, all much to gaudy to be real, but nonetheless are what they traded away their empathy and compassion for, and so they lavish these meaningless possessions that adorn their gaunt frames.
A society of the shallow and empty, every member once came to that crossroads in life, each taking fire to burn their kindness, empathy, and compassion, out of their souls one flick of a butane lighter at a time, making the evil smiles of the already-initiated glow orange through the black glass. By night, they prey upon the good and the kind, not just to steal their life force, but to spread their hatred until the world is just as bleak and empty as them.
Those who choose to sever themselves from their humanity disdain all light, as it only serves to remind them of their own weakness and of the priceless thing they gave up for it. Something nearly lost to their memories, as now their memories begin themselves to fade away. They know only that your goodness offends their eyes, behind which, you may learn lies an endless cruelty.
Copyright © Brandon Edens | Year Posted 2026
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