It seems that I have fallen into infatuation
like the burning of flags fell ashes all full of patriotism and broken promises
all full of repressed regret and strong face
all full of disgruntled honor and misplaced anger
All full of godly imperfection
A black Hawks And I'll rise to the challenge.
My mother a phoenix doting a crown of thorns
crying dove's tears.
But there is love here.
gathering ashes for a nest full of hope
looking to the sun risen and change to come
but there is no light here.
the atmosphere is thick with the the ashes of your lost piety
nothing can grow here.
the atmosphere is full of exasperated breaths, and sighs
they were waiting for a hero
like you would rise from the ashes of our broken identity
like you would bridge the parting seas
like you would bring the rain
anointing the downtrodden, the loose, and the forgotten
There is nothing new here. Lies are as ancient as water.
Alas, I am infatuated.
I burn flags like broken love letters
like draft slips
like Self-immolation my identify will defy the constraints of my destiny
like escape is possible.
I can't wrap my mind around you. Nor my arms, or thighs
I can't wrap myself around an image, an underdeveloped idea
a ruse. I'm knee deep in this puddle of ashes
I'm wallowing in this fascination with self mutilation