intestate...

photo by Sonja Quintero ©

intestate 

each morning I wake up 
hoping the apocalypse has come 
and gone and I am one of those 
left behind with my palms full 
of fading erotic dreams 
and pockets full of selfish wishes 

I keep watching the night sky 
to make sure there are no heroes left 
in this world for me to believe in 
no more golden moments 
that could triumph over darkness 
I make sure before each amble 
to only know upon my waking soul 
there is only another day waiting 
to be embraced or slipped past 

I am what slowly burns 
rebel to revolting to molting to ash
if you ask they might say 

he deserved nothing 
he deserved everything 
he might have stood a chance
love seemed just underneath 
the glassy look in his eyes 
where ghosts came fast 
and stayed through the night 
inheriting his morning poem


EJR ©