Here I sit in silent contemplation, left out, left alone, yet still breathing the love and hate, the fire and ice. This is my fate. Talking wildly to apparitions of solitude. Fingers moving in a taping revere of rhythm, like a ghost pacing the palace ruins of a million broken dreams. Only a pile of sheets lie crumpled on my empty bed, photographs of lips, memories of a kiss. I am making a pact with embassies of a distant future. I will record all that I see, all that I feel. I will write a testament. I will make an eternal proclamation, the forgotten one, the one that was left out, shamed, ridiculed, and left to cry. I wipe the tears from my eyes. I can do it all again. Lifted up like a man. Pushed forward like an angry child. I light a candle in memory of my innocence. I exist in the memories of you. This is where I dwell, like a dinner half eaten and grown cold on the table, wine stains on the tablecloth, scabs that have become old and fallen from early wounds. I’m staring at the wall. I’m studying the cracks, the stucco, and peeling paint. Outside the night has come. Outside the night is breathing like a hungry beast, devouring the words one by one that I write. I’m making love to forgotten promises, making love to a fading edifice, making love to stale bread and dirty goblets of glass, caressing the air that is too hard to breathe, breathing the air that is caressing me, down beneath the table, on the dirty floor, where the beggars sit, down with the dogs and the shit, down in the rivers that run deep beneath the ground flowing to a dark and angry sea. Here are the words that I write. This is the last and finale fight before recording the whispers of the dying left on the battlefield of life. My ear is covered in blood. My lips are covered in blood. My hand is running through their hair. I reach for another cigarette, but I throw it away. There is music playing, and music is for those that listen. There is a pounding in my head. There is a burning in my brain. I tried to forget that I loved you. I tried to throw your memory away. I tried to pretend that you still cared.
Solitude Part 2
I seem to be falling, and there seems to be no end to the terrible beauty of one. A circle waiting for a cross. I am the chosen one. I have nothing left to say that has any meaning at all. I will fill you up with nonsense and pointless riddles that have no end. There is a waterfall flowing directly into my veins. It will keep me alive forever, standing like a statue, alone in the ruins of city where no one is left to live, covered in sand, covered in dust. All tombstones have been worn smooth by the wind and the rain. No more does your memory cross my mind. It has broken my heart, and it flows like a shadow over the ground and the stones. One tree is left standing. One eye is left open. All else has failed. All else is in ruins.
Solitude Part 3
The blackness is seeping around me. It already knows who I am. In the empty sockets of a human skull. I am curling and receding into the void. I have no lives left to live. I am one with all lives. I play the air like a marionette. I am setting the stage, but no one will come. No one will knock on my door. The blackness is already having its way with me. The blackness is whispering my name and placing kisses on my ear. You were too late. You never thought it would come to this, but now you know that you were wrong.