Ace Of Black Hearts
Pucker up to the voices in my head.
Goodbye with a needle and thread.
I can not buy anymore time.
Another charity case defaced.
What if I'm just masquerading in the illusion of chardonnay.
So giddy galloping to ride that preposterous little pink and purple horsey.
Really, truthfully, honestly.
Every second I reach a new descent
But he so persistent, how could it all be a lie.
A fabrication knee high.
Did anybody bring there waders.
Hey by the way watch out for them those alligators.
Jaws clenched so tight not out of fear, oh dear, but instead exhaustion from the distance that must be still traveled.
On cold nights shivering and drinking my self into non existence.
How can I explain it any better.
The opportunity of lifetime left me high and dry.
Memories to subside.
In room full of doctors and no one can deny the diagnoses.
Mentally abrasive, feeling like I'm forever on both the run and hunt.
Chasing the contagion, it has infected me, it never had to even get close.
Sitting with friends at a pig roast.
Wish that could be me, wish I could just be happy.
But instead I sink in black hole from there is no return.
No energy to speak of.
No valid reason why.
Excuses are just paper to burn to keep the fire going a little longer.
I need purpose, I need a stone to throw.
On the move to where to I just don't know.
I just don't know.
I just don't know.
The words stuck on repeat.
Slowly my body is becoming so depleted, so empty.
Being bled dry from that which you can't see.
Even the invisible vampire has it needs.
Servitude to upcoming angels I do sing.
God they are so pretty.
I can already see them.
With there heavenly glow.
They will take me soon.
To a place where my dying heart can finally settle.
The coffee kettle has gotten so cold.
Still as bitter as when it was hot.
But it leaves something to be desired.
Hands thrown on a live wire.
Give me life, give me something.
Because right now all I do is rust.
Slowly wearing down and away.
Upon the grinding wheel until there is no edge left to sharpen.
Is this disaster all in my head?
Or is there something more to be said?
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Comments about this poem (Failing Bridge by Ace Of Black Hearts )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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