THREE POEMS FROM WITHIN A DYING LOTUS

1.

You are the thistle
and it is I who bristles
feathers in a flurry
as breath turns
from hot to cold
My aura changes
from gold
back to the blackness of old
Wonder upon wonder
it never ceases to amaze
the writer
when memory becomes soft
and blurry like your eyes
my eyes
filled to the brim 
never again
My core has not changed
I've just hardened with age
I'm not afraid to admit
I'm an eager fool
taking the bait
though shrouding myself in denial
in truth, I guess
this must do for awhile
until the hunger overwhelms the fear
of not having my penance near
and no reason left to blame
for the sadness
that was borne
the dark shadow I hold
deep within
an ancient scar
a defect of birth
But then I'd be forced to wonder
what my life is worth
so in the end
I will chase the pain
refusing to acknowledge
that I was damaged
long before I bathed
in your acid rain

2.

Like a night club
the morning after
bright lights exposing
the harsh reality
that we danced on 
finding forced beauty
all around
it is ruined
a shell
like me
empty without the sparkle of the stars
dirty rugs, stained walls, 
a vacuous feeling suffocates
like a vampire I flinch at the sight of day

3.

I'm beating you full of sense
while I run ignorant
through glass houses
pebbles falling at my feet.