Lucy

Feeling the blues at night;

Without your touch
The resonance of your soft murmur
Lingers after the image of your sleep on my bed,
Along with your smell

Of your hair, your skin
your drool?
Our bodies, weaved together
Of kisses and caresses

Soft and warm
An explosion,
Like a burst aneurysm
Of course,

a million times more pleasurable.

Until the next time our lips meet,
My mind can only seek you in dreams

Cry, as much I want to
Weep, I know I can't have you
I wipe my tears away, away

I try, I try, I try

Wish, wish for the summer
Want, to pull over under
I wipe my tears away, away

I try, I try, I try
I try, I try, I try
I try to make the best of happiness

I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
My love is bleeding
I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
An empty feeling

I try, I try, I try
I try, I try, I try
I try to make do with more more of less

All, all of our moments
Just become ailments
I'm haunted all of every day

I try, I try, I try

Ache, aching and teething
My big love is bleeding
I think I might be dying

I try, I try, I try
I try, I try, I try
I try to make the best of happiness

I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
My love is bleeding
I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
An empty feeling

I try, I try, I try
I try, I try, I try
I try, I try, I try
I try, I try, I try

I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
My love is bleeding
I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
I'm a broken heart
An empty feeling

I try, I try, I try
I try, I try, I try
I try, I try, I try

we've walked so far
but you didn't tell me

plausibility
plausibility

i'm waiting
i grit my teeth

if i am the best thing
why do you not want to keep me

the lines blur
thoughts swirl
and i weaken

my heart then whispers something profound
which i do not understand
but i'm learning to.

with grief and goodbyes

my love, and i.
we sat at the railing
consumed by passion

it came, and went.
with grief and goodbyes
to save myself
but at what cost?

time.

2 weeks have gone,
my heart is beating fast.

anxiety came and put her arms around my shoulder.
worry holds my hand.
happiness stands at a corner, watching
while despair kisses my cheek.

i swirled my drink and took a drift on my cigarette again.

an artist in so-called self slavery

i am an artist.
i am free to express myself in every stroke, splat, line.
my pencil is my sword, my brush, inspiration
i breathe in remnants of the essence of renaissance, nouveau
baroque which is old, which is new
and the words of aristotle and tagore
resonate faintly in my mind.

in my dreams i am brightly coloured
with pink hair
and a green skirt.
i care less about the world's adversity
but that is because i am in a dream.

in reality my needs overwhelm my freedom
i am forced to kneel at society's feet as they beckon
and i am uncreative, jaded
the weight of the world is upon my shoulders.


i am an artist of my time, this time.