a metaphore for a love crisis |
Persistent weed I lay there, upon the soils of falsified hope With every minutes wind my body quivers. My roots, nestled in dirt and grime Inside my hollow shell of existence remaining all alone Saddened because of what I blossomed as My body disfigured, my brain warped, My emotions abstract, my soul repugnant. I can never be the same as I once was, a seed of ignorant bliss. I’m trebling with fear For I know not what awaits me. I have to live but how can I without you. I am in purgatory it seems, My desires a persistent weed. Your desires a graceful dove in flight, so far above my garden of crushed dreams, so distant from my leaves of lust, my petals of love. You fly so high seeming like a stellar goddess. So I follow suit, do as Icarus did I fly away, after your beautiful silhouette, upon my grotesque wings I have crafted out of feathers and wax. As I reach out to you so close to the radiant sun My wings, so brittle, they fail My feathery freedom melts away The sun so hot as if a message from god himself My liquid wings cover my pitiful body. The wax hot, scorching, Burning as I plummet to the inferno of dirt and grass Upon the earth’s flesh I lay once more. Broken, burned, and scarred never to see you again As I make my home in the weed bed, you make yours amongst the clouds, a perfect home for an angel. Mine a perfect home for me, an oddly persistent weed |