the thoughts of a boy who knows nothing of affection

I take it in
before the last curtain falls.
A final waltz
and we spiral contorted under forsaken stars.

The smell of summer air furnishes the desolate room.
Its waxen skin shown in a shade of peach and honey.
My worn face is covered by a porcelain mask,
chalky and foul.

The atmosphere contrived so full of mournful desire.

My display is sunken by the affliction on my mind and
clouded by the fog of its memory.
I feel my breath begin to shorten,
a tension builds in my chest,
pins and needles blend with every pour.

I should turn my back.

I took its hand once
and we fell into eternity.
Our eyes meet with the familiarity of strangers.
Glossy with sullen tears,
I find myself gazing into the face of dissatisfaction.

I take a step back and
welcome this grim moment of perfection.

The rising nausea settles under labored skin
as the world just falls apart.

I take a step into recluse.

I wake up each morning
and fall a little farther down.
Nostalgia envelopes my tongue
bursting like magnificent rockets in the night sky
only in a place for my eyes to see.

I feel myself bleeding to death
as I cradle a new born
that is inevitably going to wane and die.

I should turn my back.

I have seen the phoenix.
It has left me paralyzed.
My dear defining moments
these are our ending days.

Here lies the nature of my soul.
My veins are infused with corrosive tar.
Stagnant is the burning of fidelity.
It lingers with the intoxicating stench of cigarette smoke,
clinging to the threads of my anatomy.

I should not be left alone with my thoughts.

Please, someone
anyone
say Something.