the rose

in the here and now
i do not think of you
but in the blue-black night
i’m haunted…

always consumed by the dark
nothing new, i am not surprised
quietly stargazing
silently crying

pictures bend and break
and your image becomes distorted
music plays and it draws me in,
intoxicating and thick

the drunken haze of memory
seeps into my veins
a soul is now tainted and worn,
a life pulled taut at the seams

ripping and straining to escape,
stuck fast in the web of illusion
then it shatters, crumbles, dissolves,
and the blackness stands endlessly still

and i am left without you,
without memory or thought
i am consumed by the scent of your flower
and i bleed by the thorn of the rose