All Gods Die a Quiet Death

All Gods die a quiet death.

Only silence survives when nothing is left.

In the struggle of existence,
even the winners have to lose.

The odds are always against us,
no matter which side of the line we choose.

Martyrs mistake dreams for pretence,
but nothing exists that makes any sense:

Just pretty pictures to paint over & protect.

Acedia

The frayed remains of two daydream decades
listlessly slides glass beads across
an abacus
            one
                    by
                        one,

            some
are so delicate that they break
upon contact
& the shards are lost to the permanence of
            forgetting:

the day walks away toward the West as
each sunset colour elides the other,
            leaving behind
a blue creeping twilight
            & shrouded moon

like
        a widower leaves flowers
at the grave of a secret lover.

Ignorant of all but their game,
the frayed remains
see nothing dimly through broken glass,

trapped

in a present moment
       empty of all content:

a skeleton
 
with hollow bones.

The marionette parade

Dragging behind you every decision
& memory:

a ragged procession
of skeletal marionettes;

decaying bones hanging limp from
        myriad strings,
they dance the maudlin, shambolic
parade of your existence:

the weak blue
            deep blue
hollow
            fallow
moment
after
moment.

Different colours, different shades*

The track was carved too shallow to follow
but still remains & always will;

water warmer than blood & a bandage
of elastic bands & any paper
to be found proceeded by dreamless sleep.

In the morning a red-stained scene
of failure & a shame deeper
than the track that missed its path by an inch,
& lead instead to survival.

Weeks passed without a word
until, where the track ends
something was discovered
to be beautiful & trembling with life**,
in unknowing defiance of winter.

Then a morning came when
I awoke to the smell of your skin, &
the hope
that the journey would never be
attempted again

until the time was right
& the endless night would arrive

in due time.

*New Dawn Fades – Joy Division

**Three Peaches – Neutral Milk Hotel

Bipolarity in Post-Modernity Part ii

Living like this, through years-worth of wine-stained
painting on canvases of lying lips,

always breaking, always confused
with nothing left I’d hate to lose,
 
no single cell free of abuse;
through days trailing nights of half-honest,

moronic,
worst forms of self-help:

the drink, the drugs & the meaningless fucks.
Finding then failing to hold onto love.

An endless mire in which to wallow,
& cover myself in the mud.

Carving a semblance of meaning
by short-selling future living.

Scavenging for real or former feelings
to feed the worms that never stop eating.

Desperate grasps for hopeful moments,
for some sweetly fleeting comfort…

This is what it is to be in pieces,
to be comforted by your diseases:

these interchangeable scenes, these
dislocated repeating memories,

hoping for something beyond me,
for protection by all these words,

but all along I was wrong:

words are no protection at all.

Bipolarity in Post-Modernity Part i