last week, I think. Some of me did.
and you bend and you bend
and eventually you break
. Eventually you get weak
, and you shatter
, and you fall
It is at that point where time stops
, the world goes away
, and the attention of the gods is only for you
. It is a sacred place
Only in these places can true change
be made. Some people build
these circles, some people can visit what is holy
to them, whenever they want.
Others have to break
last week. I stopped fighting back, and I bent, and I broke. I saw only cardboard skies
, and masked pedestrians
. Music felt empty
in my ears, and I had no love for stories
, or passion
to tell them.
Yesterday, I tried to wash all the flesh
away, and blind myself with chemical passion
Somewhere in all the dead skin
, I found something real
Today, I was alive. My nerves burned
with every touch, and my eyes saw a little more colour
, a little more beauty in the city streets under the night
I hope my melodramatic
writing is somewhat excused.
There is a story interrupted
, one that needs resolution. I have Kenza
The city whispers in my ear, and calls me close. I need to sleep in Toronto
’s arms, and see her smile again.