Bilboards of what could have been…

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I don’t know why

You erase me from your grasp,

Only to slice off your own misguided hands

And regret your negligence to touch me

Ever.

Lust, you visit me at 4:00am…

Begging for forgiveness,

Demanding attention .

Why do you say goodbye,

Only to exceed the speed limit

On highways to nowhere?

Saudade is your soundtrack

As you drive past the billboards

Of what could have been.

Idiot.

Calling in favours…

The pasta I should have made…

So I have four Italians at my doorstep,

By no fault of their own.

They are cold, tired and hungry.
There were supposed to be two,
And I wasn’t supposed to be welcoming them,
For I am only a tennant,
In these faulty towers.

But there is happiness to this madness,
Tonight I shall indulge
All the pleasures…
Blatantly, and without inhibition.

Because no one can touch me,
Now that I have done another man’s job.
No one will dare knock on my door
Asking me to cease and desist,
When they cannot succeed at independence
In managing the affairs
of the self-orchestrated hurricane they call a life.

-Calling in favours

Growth is inevitable, or is it…

Wasteland

Some people grow

Like evergreen trees

A hybrid of eagle and wolf

Soaring

Carrying others to safety

Free from an oppressive past.

Technology, evolution, science,

An alliance

Of progression.

 

Others choose to remain trapped

In the past,

Bitter from the rigours

of climate change.

An apocalypse,

Fear of karma

Crippling guilt…

And decay.

 

The irony is that in seeking to protect themselves

from the ills of the past,

Those who stunt their own growth

Do to others, 

What they fear will be done to them. 

Jumping the gun. 

Proactive. 

Slaughter.

 

The circle.