He stood so short.
Insincere but warm. He made his way into my life.
With presumption and war in his eyes. And arrogance in his stride. And audacity in his little make up.
He lied. He lay with me. Beside me.
Caressed me. Manipulated me.
But he never held me.
Belligerent and angry to the point of no reprieve and all the puffed up manhood only defined by panic and circumstance. It did not make a man. It made a child lose his freedom and scramble in irresponsibility. Napoleon.
He stepped in their shoes and lied. To himself, his friends, his lovers, his child, broke homes, slept with peoples' wives and listened to punk music that was no longer an organic escape. Instead he explored other peoples pain rather than his own. And gave some more pain to every life he ever touched.
We had no business loving him. He was not deserving and as the black devil tries hard to hold on to this era he possesses these weak ones under the Taurean Sun. Makes us believe them, trust them and consort with them while they create the havoc necessary for the insecurity of time.
And I reckon one lifetime ago, I said the same thing.
With those many rivers to cross ahead, the "man in transition" line will no longer cross these rivers... no bridges left. They all went up in flames with about 1500 reasons as to why the bridge will never be built again. There is no bike to carry him over. No electricity or gas to light the way. No hat to weather the snow and the rain. No money to catch a plane.
Don't look back...because you are already a pillar of salt.
Don't look back...because you have already missed so much of the good things.
We can't look back...even though it hurts, every day it hurts a little less.
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