Barren Rooms And Tender Soliloquy Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

My mind suffocates in clarity –
Now the cloudless, barren horizon
The azure, now my closest friend
To where we see the aeons prance
Subtly, deathly – Where shall I take refuge?
I eat, I sleep, I drink and pray –
But never coil myself in one pillar
Of my bed and say, “This will be different.”
Yes, and it was, only far more obscured than bliss
Now, robust with lips torn apart and shriveled,
I glance underneath my bed, or sometimes under
A lithe, cottony pillow and remain there

My immense night, yes my vastly emptied sinister
Only seals its lips with a kiss from the stars,
And right there, envious as a man should be,
Jealous as an evil menace should be, I look at the stars
And the way they shine, and I abruptly, as startling as a
Drizzle in the purest of the Sunlight’s first inebriating ray,
I am berated by the whimsical face of the stars –
Having the chance to kiss the night, and to fold intimately
Amongst the haze of the stars, why is this selfishness
Too crass to believe, and too mortifying to lie about?

The sunny days of the Summer miasma only lasts
For brief moments of synthetic smiles, but alas,
The night and its murky subtleness, I vie and pray
That heaven forbid and make this night only last
For a second so I could heave heavier than before
And spew a cloudy smog of relief – the heaven and its relief
I dare not to believe, because in this existence, I am lost
And never be found for I am in hiding – my wounds are
Concealed but the scars will bulge and people will jeer,
And sneer and cower at the very hideous creature in front of them
A wounded, ragamuffin soul whose inveigling is far
From the mundane, and close to the disillusionment of reality

So my dear friend, when you look for me,
You will not find me in my room, for my room is dead
And the scent of it will remind you of requiems in a dream
I have taken off to a silent land where nobody could take me
By the hand because I refuse them to do so, for to take me by
The hand is to assure me that when one leaves, another one
Will come by the front door with a bouquet of rusting words
And then kiss my lips passionately, ardently, and then disappear
With the first breath of the morning’s dew-clad mouth
I repudiate most amorously that you take me by the hand
Lay with me – muted and coil me like a hissing snake
Naked with sepulchral prattle, alive with a love ablaze
And then in this cabin I have made in the depth of an
Abysmal fortnight’s wink, don’t ever leave me
For distraught is not a friend I can suffer gladly
I am in need of you, friend, please look for me
Before it’s too late – too late that I have succumbed to
Resignation, and its filthy, prolix mandate to
Perish within time, and not live within its premises.

I beg you.
Please, help me.