Repulser

Repulser


Without sounding too melodramatic :

Every fibre of my being is awaiting that moment with a criminal lust
My arms are empty and they ache for you
Such a fierce intensive passion I suppose should be restrained
Or rationed in a way similar to the one being enforced on me
Memories are rapists that tip toe up behind me and grab me by the throat
Softly split my jaded, nicotine tinged skin with a deft flick
And force feed me serotonin only to laugh in my face at the very second they reveal their placebo.
How crafty and indulging they are.
Uncertainty is a cross I’ve come to know and fear and hate and return to
Seven days a week minus only the brief flirtation with trust and abandonment I get when inside you
Shapes a man, creates a different one and destroys a probable king
For in this winter I am nothing but a distorted serial number on the back of a faded teen magazine
Shoved under the semen crusted sheets in the bed of a prison inmate
Still close enough to remain conscious, removed enough to be of no consequence,
I’m ultimately nostalgia wrapped in cling film only to be touched wearing marigolds.
I despise yet accept myself, see the holes where I have disappeared into
Yet have no idea of how to summon the strength necessary to begin the ascension
I have always been weak enough to assume a princess worthy enough of me
Dedicated enough, resilient enough would armor me with the ladder out of my pit
That through some act of love and safety I would be propelled from here into an oasis of calm and serenity
Such pitiful excuses repulse the repulser, they do nothing but bury guilt beneath the patio
Next to the torn skeletal remains of the last failed endeavor,
I believe she is still screaming at me, cursing me, I believe because of my eternal need to be relevant
I’d rather be hated than forgotten
It is this outstanding egocentricity that makes me unfit to be a man
Yet - it would seem I still am.

I still wake to find the hair at the tip of my nose outgrowing me.


D.J. ROUSE