My Injured Prince

Through the screeching sound of judgement,
you talk as though we are prey
standing in performance theater,
raising my heartbeat you wish
to make it yield to your power

You must break something if your spell is not cast
If it’s my love than you will penalize me further
You are my accuser
My crimes of passion carry a heavy sentence

You spend your dreams weighing the cost of carrying
out longer sentencing
a vendetta against your love clings to more than your shadow,
but also your insides
you twist, turn, and contradict so much nonsense that
nobody knows if there are those who can construe your sense

The junkie in the midst of blackout calls me a sinner
how dare I paint in flaws?
I used to be the sinner and the saint
Now I’m assigned as the delinquent in your war- war is the only entertainment you can stand these days.

Heroes are dead and villains switch places, on constant reassignment
I loved a fallen angel
I focused on the angel part…
You cradled me like a broken bird, then we had to go back to a reality
where your credentials said you were in the peace core while
I was a hunted war criminal
Where did you manufacture those papers?
When you show them to inspectors, they don’t see what you see.
Instead drawings of comedians sober them up, make them want to die…
Oh the shame, I can feel it in the times you speak of me.
All the same, remorse’s glare is darker when you observe my life unannounced.

What was it that blackened the inside of your veins
so that minty chalk tobacco scent followed you like a lasso
tied to your tornadoes
Where was home when you called?

Your love (or is it only power) leaves me shivering, confused, desolate
but it’s simply your desperation that I find oppressive
You twisted against a purity, shaking me until my thoughts
bounced up and down, with your rage.
I was a horror movie being projected onto your screen
and then a romance, an adventure, and finally, a mystery…
Youdunit, youdunit, you dunit, you whispered.

You lived a hundred lives in the memories you carried of us
I hate you for imposing this new prison of trust! you thought.
“Not worthy of my respect-“you denounced in front of my friends.
They protested, and you grew spiteful
“They cannot see your sociopathic ways” you said,
and I think I felt your pain more clearly than my own.
Where did your need to hurt me come from?
Another question I couldn’t, shouldn’t pose.

To be the bloody dragon in a world where dragons are not alive is difficult, my friend.
I have an impossible time lying to those I love,
but your justifications slow me down.
My friends, they often say that I offer you
too much compassion.
No. No; and you would laugh, and mutter something indecent. that’s backwards, you’de cackle.
You gambled with your heart, and when the signs pointed to
a loss, the world was something to banish
Behave.

Trembling, I offered my vulnerability, but you were
in a haze of sorts. I don’t know, I couldn’t find a way into
words. You were certain in all the areas I wasn’t;
certain of failure,
certain of disappointment, certain of hate.
Still, you asked me if I still loved you. I did, oh, I did.

I could have told you I was both sinner and saint,
I don’t think you could choose between either one anyway…
I failed so many tests you posed, and the fact that you tested me at all, now that
was a promise that you broke to me so violently.

Begging you had its affect,
for some reason seeing you brought emotions into my self
that made me thrash. Overpowered by feeling. I was drowning in the fumes. I can’t be sure if
you knew where the surface was.

Before,
I didn’t know that it was you that made me feel so strongly.
While in your presence, doubt amplified- then pain,
then suffering, and longing, of course.

You formed knots out of my (and our?) innocence-
Innocence you denied knowing..
then wheedled your way into a horrible performance
one that had premiered in your minds eye,
as you envisioned different results.
Do you like your puppets to be made of clay or steel?

No longer your lost Lolita, I didn’t overreact.
This in itself seemed a horrible sign for you. Ominous territory.
I’m not a fan of seeking out mystical coincidences in the everyday.
Why wasn’t your poor Ophelia crying? Why did she put up walls?
How dare your investment come up short,
only to recover from your punishments?
Your torture must not be severe enough. In crutches, you decided.

You were always one for extremes,
but the time for daydreaming has come and gone
The black I see in your eyes does not surprise me anymore.
I am the one that wished you back, and I was not
careful enough with the doors I prayed would pry open.

My selfishness leaves a harsher glare on you than any act of redemption.
Yes, oh dark one, I am sorry my apologies mean so little. I would make it up to you, but you cut me off
at the knees, then tarnish my reputation- even though the Jews consider that murder- nonetheless,
it will not match what I’ve already encountered:
masks that were real faces, and faces that were masks,
Lives that were ruined by
beauty, your destruction remains a mystery to me

I don’t know if I will outrun the finger you point when we are not close
For it is our separation that infuriates you.
You made your bed, and it can’t be your fault, that is your rule,
but victimhood is not your story.
I ask you to tell me what is, but your sigh sounds as a hiss.

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This entry was posted in abandonment, Blast from Past, conflict, contagious emptiness, criticism, desire, hurled, life, manic, relationships, unattended needs. Bookmark the permalink.

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