I scavenge for peace
In dark alleys
Savouring whatever little I find
Of what they robbed me of.
My old friend whose presence,
I feel on the corners of my eyes,
Is a wanderer I bump into everywhere.
Signs of her live within my lungs
And the folded cuffs of my shirt.
The dust and me share the same fate,
Momentary semblances of direction
Amid long periods of stagnation.
I retire to a dark chamber,
Full with red and mahogany,
Where my faithful comrade and I,
Sip on our slow brewed melancholy.
I do tolerate that from bottles to books
She leaves prints everywhere.
But, I can't stand her envy
Of the potential of my solid form.
Her eternity I never begrudge.
Too late it is, she now knows.
I hit them with what hurts the most
Wounds of truth, seldom, the Mob forgets.
I permanently shattered their glasshouses
And razed their magnificent sandcastles,
Guarded with denials and lies.
Can't know if it is a half-joke
Or a well meaning friend's desire
When she wishes you a speedy decadence.
"So that one day you would turn into me
and together we will rot in peace."