7 Years of Bad Luck

Cipher No More

Sitting, hands bleeding from unsuccessful
attempts to reconstruct shattered glass
representing love once had, mad,
forked paths lead to separation, both ways,
was a slave to dreaded feminine masters of emotion,
abusive, elusive feelings only shown during
“sighs” concealing misleading agendas shared
only during mouth-to-mouth resuscitation moments
designed to continue my dependency of your breath,
words, beauty, subtleties, caress, engaging all of you
meant losing self, but it was worth it, right?

Laying in beds of broken glass, yours, hers,
awake, not from the bleeding, it is the needing
keeping bloodshot eyes filled with insatiable weeping
to the point of dehydration, let me drink of your soul yet again,
forced to accepted the title, “only friends”, which begins
with deceleration, freeing of spirits intertwined, enshrined
in sacred places only seen when passwords are uttered,

CALL: “What you doing?”
RESPONSE: …,“talking to you.”

Silence holds cold hands, romances with empty whispers,
leaving behind thoughts, reminds of new histories created
with each exclusive memory made for us, erased like American
Native peoples, once equal, then major, now minor like Asia
is this existence born from her inability to distinguish between
past, present, true love, fetish, the possibilities, from the definite
the unimportant, from the relevant to the point where being celibate
is enough until…

…I
…Am
…Ready