He with the darkest secrets should master silence,
observant with where his tongue may lead him,
treading lightly around the minefield of egotistical swaying,
until all the quiet becomes a guiding light.
It may be that this introversion is the vehicle for my salvation,
it may be that it lulls me into a false sense of security,
the balance of trusting the light and embracing the darkness,
ever so fine a thread.
Have you ever thought the same,
running away and forgetting your name,
having no identity, no guilt, no blame,
living moment to moment, without shame?
Don’t be jealous,
when my attention is taken,
and my heart throngs,
for more than what your flesh can give.
Don’t be zealous,
all is not forsaken,
just hush, it wont be long,
and in your silence I may be able to live.
Intimacy is still possible,
with people who hate one another,
this often happens,
when you stare in the mirror long enough,
what’s different then,
in being enthralled and appalled at once,
reconciling and irreconcilable,
in a union of secret eloping with your inner most bits.
Maybe I’m too romantically inclined.
Is it too much to be asked,
to be ruined in mind,
wretchedly unfixed in state,
mad with inability,
scathing walls for a scent of the past.
Ah what a little neuroticism does for the soul.
If you can’t at all be haunted by something,
I fail to see how you could pique my interest.
It’s not that I want to heal you either,
but I do want my own misery to be reciprocated.
That kind of companionship,
the guarded chastity inspite of the allure,
wets the palate with prose.
Judge me as much as you want,
just don’t let me anticipate,
leave me to my anxiety,
a still lake,
cast not a stone with your glaring eyes,
it’s the ripple before it reaches me,
Quell your souls with this beautiful piece.
It’s easy to remain unperturbed,
when you’re a far worse critic of yourself,
than they could ever be.
Amongst all the noise,
and scum scattered about,
I’m the fighting Temeraire,
carving up the sea.