Twilight On A Windy Road

Thoughts are fleeing.
Elusive as the little epiphanies:
When the fluid absorbs evil organic things,
Like the spoon from little possession,
Or the stolen plectrum that hates me more than my parents.

Days like these teach us to forget happiness,
The bus ride home washes away the strokes of bright memories
Painted afresh on the wall of life.
Till you smile at the old man selling cheap cigarettes,
His world has become yours,
The fancy bar and the cheap rum is digested, sometimes thrown up.

The many dreams of a green future,
Wet fields, and flight with whales through black holes and chromatic nebulas;
The many terrifying visions of a tiny cubicle;
A hope to keep the light burning,
And the many discarded notes and torn bucket lists:
Space time dissolved in Descartes' pensieve,
Dreaming eyes wide open,
With reality spinning around me,
Eternally, like liquid Helium.

I'm not chasing the dream,
The dream's chasing me,
And as I run, the sands run low too.

As I lay here, recounting a tale that none would hear,
Faces come and go.
In my righteousness I dismiss them with trembling lips,
That someday a place will be found,
Where there'll be faces to die for,
Arms to die in,
And the insatiable appetite for genuine friendship shall be spent:
The pain reveals the serious flaw of a seductive thesis.

Didn't we think unrequited love tears apart the soul?
But we were so young,
That fragile old hunched bodies of fathers
And aging mothers were served with stinking alcohol to tables running out of good jokes.
And didn't we shut them off who said they loved but loneliness?
So the faces return,
As I lay here and contemplate hell.

Death unites us all,
Life takes us on,
A fading light reminds us of sunshine.
But then,
Weren't we all asleep when we could live?