I Whisper Goodbye

The butterflies and gnats don’t understand,
The birds can’t possibly comprehend,
The flowers and the sun all scorn me,
As I whisper goodbye for the last time.

The earth and the worms smile,
The ants dance, croon, and play in the grass.
I bark and rebuke them in my heart,
As I whisper goodbye for the last time.

I close my eyes and hear the wind,
I smell every memory we had and can’t have,
The crickets chirp, I think I hear your voice,
As I whisper goodbye for the last time.

A stream of tears, a torrent of hurt,
I see your face in a tree, and know your grin,
A part of me is torn, you’re ripped away,
As I whisper goodbye for the last time.

I dry my flooded eyes with the edge of my cuff,
While my fingers graze the dull, dark, gray box,
I vacantly reach out for one more moment with you.
Afraid to speak, I can only whisper.

I whisper…

“Goodbye.”

Los Angeles or The City of [Broken] Angels

Your city bleeds from a heart as black as my smoldering lungs.
Alone she weeps, she crawls, and babbles in foreign tongues.
Dragging herself with the hopes and dreams of innocent members reeling.
Near death but somehow still breathing, near gangrenous but always still feeling.

So here’s to her. Your city, your bride.
Down your shot and swallow your pride.
Take a drag and pray for life.
Breathe it out and twist the knife.

Truer words were never spoken,
That, in LA, the Angels are broken.

Your city smiles a frown with bulged, bloated lips quivering.
The skintight mask slowly droops, yet her clownish grin is unwavering.
Her façade has been shattered and fixed, brutally ravaged and mended.
The Lady has been destroyed and forgotten far longer than intended.

So here’s to her. Your city, your bride.
Pound your beer and swallow your pride.
Chief your grit and pray for life.
Breathe it out and twist the knife.

Truer words were never spoken,
That, in LA, the Angels are broken.

Your city cries out for help, for love she opens wide and screams.
Throat raw, hemorrhaging unfulfilled potential and hideously, shoddy dreams.
The rest of the world stares and laughs, she’s here for their sick delight.
She hopes that someday the clouds will clear and day will break through the night.

So here’s to her. Your city, your bride.
Finish your fifth and swallow your pride.
Crush your cig and pray for life.
Breathe it out and twist the knife.

Truer words were never spoken,
That, in LA, the Angels are broken.

In LA, the Angels are broken.

A Thousand Suburbs in Search of a City

Limbs stinging, blue, and sore.

Stench lingering,

An untamed, unnoticed passenger.

The earth beneath lengthy, unkempt fingernails,

Is a crusty, dog-eared manicure,

Worn with pride. Worn with abandon.

Moth and mice eaten clothes,

A uniform for the forgotten.

The invisible.

Dead to some.

A ghost to most.

The stars shine only for one: the light thief.

Sweet perfume,

Emanates and stings the senses.

Fake, false, all forged from an image,

Tainted beauty and distorted splendor.

Please, don’t stop and smell the poisonous flowers.

Fine fabrics and finer smiles,

Teeth too white. Eyes too bright.

Spotlight.

Steal the night.

Stole your light.

A red dot in a field of black.

All alone,

Hands and soul grasping.

A breath is nothing unless its heard,

A heart beat worth even less.

Lonely and tired, tired of being lonely.

The veins in your eyes,

Crimson, cruel, crooked strings.

The broken.

Know.

Be known.