*redemption/alone

in the absolute redemption of lesser days, even more so as the rain falls and smoothes the spirit,

there is always interference.

purity and the tipping point are too far away of equilibrium.

reaching for what's inside is always further than my skin, longer than my nights.

and I lay awake, toss and turn, in the unit that is "myself" - no more bodies, no more blood - in the brink of death or madness.

just like the body I see clearly with my eyes closed; in the middle of the bridge, never really grasping the concept of what it is that makes me feel alive,

never ending sun, left behind by cruel smiles of a promised love that was forgotten before it caved in on what was supposed to be a future.

i wake up from memories only; the naked body under the melting sun;

the middle of the bridge... the concrete that scratches the skin and provides it with a richer tone of aliveness.

i readily observe what appears the full-motion picture of me and you; in a screeching desire for lust and nothing more; and two frames reappear over and over and over again...

in the middle of the bridge there is no half-truth - only the dying are left to enjoy the timeless condition that oblivion offers,

the kind of gift I never truly wanted but I yearn for nonetheless...

let me close my eyes, let me ease into something quiet,

remember the days, the unforgiven.

i long for everything I could never be while I stray (or so I've convinced myself I do) from the inevitable prison of my skin. Only for the shortest while had I been oozing that certainty that nothing will be the same for the better.

he made me believe I could stop the motions and grab the frames with my own hands, for a sweet moment before, yet again,

absolute redemption.

i sometimes wish I could be sorry but in denying my own fears there's substance lost, leaks of who I was and who I want to be - never of who I really am.

and I drip away in sadness, leaving a piece of me in everything I touch or see. Pieces of me, details  scattered around in the hopes of finding their way back home - Alone.

noise and rhythm break the cycle but never fail in nurturing something lost in time and place.

let me close my eyes, let me slip away, I can never find hope when the sun is up.