satanspetcat

Her Boy, October

Some picturesque scene, right
over eerie blue-green lamps,
throw ghastly shadows cross faces
squinting. Lying beyond mans'
vision, roads lacking lights
and denying destinations.

Maps do no good out here,
creases created to cover names;
places lost long before my eyes
looked upon this winding street.

But behind this fence I lack direction,
let alone destination. Stagnant
dreams die, not yet reborn but
by this time changing.

Straight lines easy to maintain
but complexity called the approaching
curves, "Stand tall and wide,
twisting hands and hearts.'
Double yellow doesn't deviate
so in turn why should I?

October will come now, drop
leaves to black concrete.
Lines clearly drawn, not for
battle but for peace, now
obscured; orange, red, bleeding
purples dangerously beautiful.

Can curves be the end?
Or will new direction come
easy like the seasons?
October may come quick
but I might be forever.

Someone has begun to inspire me to create again. And today my heart was torn straight from my chest and it hurts really bad. So I decided to start putting up work for people to read.