You were the promise of good words on a page
which told me there was something more.
You were a shallow ideal above the norm
which gave me a stability above the level
of giggles and alphabets running
together too giddily,
bold but overdone concepts
which strung together form this empty babble.

You dont care till the j hits do you?
Till the shot mellow your bones and mind -
or maybe not even then.
But if this is it, what do I do till then?
Do I cling to the remnants of a dream
Or float along on my own?

Leaisurely drowning
in callousness
in selfness
in the lack of
something I am still searching for.
In the absence of
the whispers of a tune of something
I don't quite know but don't want to relinquish.

What were you saying?
Oh yes
Suffer why don't you?
"Love is patient.
Love is kind."
Prove yourself with this stoic barrier
indifferent to scorns and silliness
after all
your worth is painstakingly measured
not by what you have
but by what others lack.
Oh bring on the misunderstandings.

And then I will turn
my insides struggling and coming alive
like an overloaded butterfly
like a green leaf falling deliberately just because it's autumn

like a dragon breathing it's last few puffs
of smoky, discombobulated words
and I will pause breathless
looking wearily into the night
shuddering and shivering
despite the heat.

I will seek something beyond the black
and receive nothing more than the
empty, sparkling, jeering lights
of the city I am currently
fated to be in.
And the lights and dreams laugh harder at me
than I ever will