Parade

A collection of writings from the past few years.

'Old Leading Life'.

Why do the heathens rage here
behind this firehouse -
to raze these walls and shout its flaws?
listen to these screams with my tongue...
i've tried,
but
it is easier for you to leave now
than to be left behind.

memory fuses
and shatters like glass
with a whisper.
you might have hidden a frown
(if I had told you)
you might have wasted away
(if i had to mold you).
i've tried to take this
but loneliness
is the shadow of pain running across my frame.

a brilliant night
comes calling back
and Im still awake
looking ahead to the day.