VICES OF AN ARTIST

Dirty cracks of absolution
leaking oily putrescence
remind me of the stains
on the fabric(ation) of this portrait

The purity of paint 
flung haphazardly onto an empty canvas
is nothing like the spreading inkblot
of uncertainty, of disillusionment

Players on the stage of life
we move on to the next scene
all the while hiding our obsessions
behind the gauzy veil of comfort

Eight coffees later
and I'm still weak at the knees
from the fluttering of your 
tentacle like eyelashes

Don't squeeze too hard
you might bruise my ego
I might melt in your hand
and run like a river through the cracks 
in your dam(nation) of yourself
it's complete, 
though, I'll forget that tomorrow

Blithely point out my ignorance
yell the truth in my face
and watch it bounce off of me
at symmetrical angles

A supposed former separatist
yet I'm still yearning for togetherness
though only with the one
who wants to forever remain alone
Chasing the lies in the hope
that I will capture
the one that wants no future

Yes, caffetine and niciene
were my earliest addictions
Love came later
on sultry summer days
interspersed with the cascading memories
of simple summer evenings
lit only by lightening bugs
buzzing just out of reach