Doomed

Every laneway into the open heart breathes fire for dragons. We speak but do not feel a thing. Numb to the open sore that we set aside for the short sharp shock to start again. I am not here but sufficiently so as to bring myself down to this level. After a while repetition gets annoying and in the end I can't remember nor speak for myself. I talk of love or hate but feel neither these days. The last time I did was over four years ago. I don't think it's healed and I could never begin.....that's why when I fall for you, I know I could be doomed.

I fled for years, I fled from feelings, to see what cold observations I could make of life. But life is a word that has lost it's meaning. And every person's empty beliefs are a thing of pure comedy. If my heart is black.....is it time to change tack? I lose the concentration and I yearn to sleep again. Into the eyes that burn like a fire. Toasted and set aside. I'm almost in heaven and hell from a perception of Catholicism that knows only one thing: perpetuating myths so that they infatuate the lymphs. The thrill of old fashioned heresy has long since gone but it always lingers. So long as you have a spokesman in power.

It's impending or is it looming. Depending on whom? Doom casts a shadow at the roll of a dice and all the old operatic words, in mid 20th Century talk. We walk through the past of an unsatisfied eye. It could be you drawing on the forest fires. Burning all the trees to ash. I don't think it's healed and I could never begin......that's why when I fall for you, I know I could be doomed.

At night the forest plays sweet music. So discreet to stay inside. Insidious, because every word you speak has got inside my skin. We are no longer of our own bodies. Love is for zombies and vampires and like all those old myths, I am with you again. I am no more.