To Be Trapped

To Be Trapped

And, when everything turns to ash,

Will I meet you at the end?

As the light crumbles before the dawn,

And the bare existence of eternity swipes away at our inconsistent tears,

Will I see your face?

And for that mere reason, I ask,

Can I break now,

For the idea of you holding me still?

If I were to simply fall,

Would you be the one to keep me elevated on sand,

Instead of the incestuous seduction of surrendering to the depths?

Can I seep then?

I don’t recall another time, when loss of willpower was the most ideal condition,

And, the path as a human being was so strained and tainted by my spirit.

When did the fall seem more translucent and innocent then pure emotion?

For, I can only feel the pain again,

And it welcomes me with open chagrin and complex tears.

Without being able to walk,

It transcends the mere thought of a world without grounding.

When did those bellowing sighs begin to taste so sickeningly sweet?

And the idea of compensation became so irritatingly irrational.

No more, I would cry.

I would tear off the scab of humanity myself,

If only I had the nails to break through the context.

So, will you do the deed?

Will you be the one to push me off the edge of insanity,

And into a realm where I am far more knowledgeable.

How quickly I lost my sense of intellect.

And how insouciantly I died.

Yet, even in death, I can’t break past my boundaries of emotions,

Or, perhaps, push through to them.

Did I lose the will of conceptual thought, in order to live and be loved?

Who knows if I ever felt at all.

Or, if I only ever felt.

It’s dead now, anyway,

That life I knew.

And yet, how completely it seeks to remind me of it’s sweet taste.

It remains coated inside of my mouth,

Like year-old sins.

What would you like me to do?

I simply ask the question, trying to desperately find an answer worth knowing.

Perhaps, there is one.

Perhaps, I don’t want to know it if there isn’t.

All I know, is that falling is the purest form of self-indulgence,

And all I want is to be trapped with you.

By whim.

By heart.

By sin.

Who knows what it is I actually want.

And yet, perhaps I’ll live out my life,

My death,

Hoping that you’ll help me find it,

And consistently pick me up as I fall.

Allie Batt
8/7/2009