Ribmeat Of The Family Tree

The Missing Windows

12-5-05

Welcome to my quiet sanctuary
where music flows similarily
to my motions of moods and mystery.
I flicker fluently as though none were near to me.
This presence is my present
and my account of my recent extensions.
There is life within and without.
We've learned to live amongst dreary doubt.

Shadows gleaming through the sill
remind me of each and every one of you.
The rays that pass over my existence;
the rain parading around the distance.

You're 24/7 in memory when I'm alone.
The absence is no longer just at home.
Another check in the mail on a week of Sundays.
Once more ducking the gallows of public gaze.

I didn't fix it so you wouldn't break it.
I wouldn't say it just to fake it.
An admission I would never've lied
if I'd only had a notion to try.

The secrecy was not so much planned as it was needed;
true to the results, it was fairly heeded.
The addictive isolation abducted your senses from me,
         friend,
while any substance of guilt imbibes within me.

I'm a blue state, a child sedate monster.
The double comma pause; a coma walking in prosper.
The city lights no longer blind me
but illuminate the places I wished to hide.
Like duststorm demos in midstream snows,
I'm closer inside anywhere mimicking home.
Magnetic hearts and polar opposites
like tides flowing sans ebbs and crests.

The nervous psychosis and scared transmissions,
like ironic masturbation with technological fascination,
results in heritage by hermitage.
An isolation by enhanced desperation
         and unparalleled delineation.

There are points in life contested,
forlorn or cast aside, unaddressed,
I have forsaken many and laid doubt.
It's taught me there are certain things
         I shouldn't live without.