May 22, 2002

the festival of dark

it is the piquant cheese i taste when i resuscitate
my tired lungs and i breathe.
my fluid sinew, mustered from nothing
but you.
there is a quiet corner where i choose to sit
reclusion in elysium
where my gaze naturally falls on where i want it to fall on you
the ebb of euphoria; the constant mellow happiness i still feel.
wanting. still wanting. not getting. not getting still.

when all i have left vaporizes to my bewildered thoughts
i like to think you wanted me there.
and then i decide enough is enough
my wide smile widens
my blank mind blankens.
i go back to where i came from, the place i probably never was at,
charged with genuine nescience
of why i chose to be at the
festival of dark

7:12 PM

there was a boy who tried to rhyme
so hard he tried he had no time
to thank the ones who gave him tips
on how to end.

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