by Patrick Marchildon

Created on: February 08, 2011

This was supposed to be a love poem

A romantic insight from the lonely hearted

No such verses exist.

I am her cratered scar tissue

A foggy enveloped aftermath

A thinly masked Armageddon

A malnourished manchild

A coping mechanical disaster

To the eternally bleeding organ

Please sing me a love song

A lullaby

A murder-suicide nursery rhyme

I am cellophane wrapped over moldy bread

The yeast of her problems

Deflowered

My Naked eyes

Now less visible than darkness

Safe from exposure

Call me a tourist

A chameleon among extroverts

Satisfying the social interactions quota

I’m thirsty for a taste of identity

A teaspoon of epiphany

Find me a defibrillator on craigslist

I am a barren power source

Formerly a fictitious escape from reality

Her everyday loving; lied about fantasy

I lit her up every night

Until she burnt down the forest

Her fiery eyes left me to die

And now she’s gone

Here lies my remains

Ashy and scattered

My best efforts faltering

Unable to centralize resurgence activity

Incapable of self-promotion

I try to turn to humanity for guidance

A compliant soldier to this so called God

Instead I am just a comedian

Why turn to beings of justification?

Nations formed based on lies and false promises

A world that views slavery as economically viable

I am a lover that lost his way

An invulnerable seeker of vulnerability

In need of an exception to the law of attraction

A frigid body warmed only by my touch

Lips parting ways to make room for mine

A non-existent verse to the formerly uninspired

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