The Second Time

32

rockets

****

this is a hypothesis for existence and creation and the relevant and the irrelevant and for you.

the world is too fragile to carry a blow

from someone as forceful as you –

the world is too brittle to foster the glow

from a flame as vibrant as you.

your presence is announced early on

when the air turns fiery-colored

and fizzles out in monstrous bursts –

you hit your audience with a bang

slamming into their senses,

leaving them breathless

the tempest that is ever-so tempting

ever-so self-destructive,

ever-so rare;

the melding of heaven and hell

the deafening crash of the limbo

the striking nature of a lack of belief

and the choking, screaming, crying of slaughtered emotion

inspiring in others the need to rip open every fiber of being

and explode in a mass of noise and tears and blood and waves

and wind, crashing and burning

without warning

and paining paintings

of love and lust and fear too,

for fear is the bloodiest of all feelings

while anger is the most consistent.

you are unnatural, a beast in the form of man

and you have the devil in your eyes and

vapor, vapid vats of vapor

and unintelligible

and inexplicable

and undefined.

your attacks are silent and unconscious

and you sit beside me in waiting –

or it’s all just the tempest

or it’s all just the temptation of the mind

and your glittery smile and malicious eyes

bitingly peeling away my sanity, strand by strand.

rough brushstrokes and violent color

and one sweep from corner to corner

edge to edge

no entrance untouched

and lots of rage –

consistency –

until the canvas cracks

and your image dead,

an immortalization of all of your faults

and all of your wrongs

and all of the pain and awe and wonder and disbelief

you have enabled in me.