Ouroboros

Well I can disapprove
But what’s that mean to you?
We both will never move
So what then can I do?
I bite my tongue and let your voice
Become the leader in our chorus
Pretending that I have no choice
Knowing that it’s all an ouroboros.

Nothing Beautiful

There is no thought
Nothing I can hold
And I’m supposed to be something beautiful
I’m supposed to be something bold?

I am something angry
I am something losing self
And if that is all that’s left of me
Then leave me to myself.

The Lie

All I feel now is the lie
My heart is filled with falsity
Telling me I’m angry
Never telling why

Somewhere is the truth
Anger is convenient
Despair the main ingredient
Mixed with sadness and youth

But truth carries the pain
And knowing doesn’t save me
When I know I’m going crazy
Because how could this be sane

But if this is my deceit
Then I could use a little crazy
Because the only thing to save me
Is to not admit defeat.

Voiceless

The choice of no choices:
Surely I’ve said it here before,
Thinking that I’m thoughtless,
Faceless evermore;

That my voice becomes voiceless
The moment it is heard,
And everything I wish
Is best not pandered with a word;

And all my silly choices
Are no better than what’s gone before;
So what’s the point in raising voices?
It won’t help me be heard more.

I Meant to Tell You, but for the Things I Never Say

I meant to write a letter, but
The letters burned away;
I meant to raise a flag, but
The white ones won the day;
I meant to tell you what I meant, but
The meaning lost its sway;
And though I always meant to ask you,
I always feared you wouldn’t stay.

Protagonist

If this were a story,
Maybe things then would be different;
And if I were a heroine,
Would the world not seem so distant?

If I were a protagonist —
Someone with a destiny —
Could I take up the call of life,
And maybe then, be set free?

Or, if I were a leader,
Someone ever calm and clear,
Could I be there for another,
And thus quell my own fear?

If I had to face a villain
Or the end of the entire world
Maybe then I could be certain
If there’s a part of me worth it not to yield.

Vivian

I found her on a rooftop
Waiting for the sun to rise;
She was singing softly,
And the horizon never left her eyes.

She suggested that I sit with her,
And I could find no reason to say no.
I hadn’t watched the sun rise
Since I had left my home.

But that would never be home again,
Not without my wife.
Nothing was the same
Since she took her own life.

So I sit and watch the sun rise
With one of those creatures that I blame:
A vampire singing softly,
“Please don’t take my sunshine away…”

---

 

I love irony. This poem came from one of my out-of-left-field daydream stories that I almost never tell, involving a vampire trying to commit suicide by sunrise, being joined by a vampire hunter with a personal aversion to suicide. At first he mostly sticks around to make sure that she dies, one way or another, but as the time crawls by and it becomes clear she’s given up on her “life” — with just one last wish to see the sun again — he becomes eager to save it.

Now, I like her. There’s something about a vampire singing “You Are My Sunshine” as she sighingly waits for the sun to rise that I just find terribly appealing. So, I decided to give her a name. As I understand it, the name “Vivian” has its origins in a Latin word meaning “alive.” Have I mentioned that I love irony?

Surrender

I’m caught:
I feel the grip upon me.
What a pretty darkness;
What a freeing weakness.
Officially, I fought;
It didn’t get me easily.
What a pretty lie!
I gave myself quite willingly.
I believe this is my lot,
To be caught up by this gravity.
And who can say it’s not?
Perhaps it is my destiny.
In it I’ve been caught,
And the dark closes around me:
What a pretty hell
For I, the ne’er-do-well.