Razor Eddie The Patron Saint of City Carousers

A flock of words fluttering inside your mouth
Beating against a cage of gilded teeth, gleaming with malcontent
They escape, slowly, flitting out one afer the other
roosting in my ears, nesting in the craggy cliff that is my heart

An island adrift of its moors
You have become, self sufficiently broken
A perpetual motion machine, running on a fount of resentment
nothing I offer is big enough to cross the chasm
My sails are empty, even though they long for your shores

Onomatoepic sounds amplify the silence between us
Smothering white noise of automatons in pretense of life
Every act is a foreboding I cant repel
The ruffle of hastily folded clothes, the scratch of dragged boxes
Doors unceremoniously shut, the exhaust of your lover’s car
They overwhelm me and my gilded cage breaks
To release no words
Just grief long ignored and a fractured soul recoiling
Like the…

View original post 9 more words