I narrowly escaped your grasp
A potent hand of disaster
This is not a dream or a much-loved snapshot
It is hell on earth.
I am bitterly disappointed in myself
For losing the will and dropping the page
Of reason into the fire that burns in my eyes
And on the heartland
A harsh land where the heartless roam
And nip at the travellers who crave to be
You are one of the heartless souls
Crafting dark magic and punching holes,
In paper-thin walls in a cold house where,
Psychopaths occupy the rooms and the corridors
They are nonbelievers, masterful weavers,
This drug owns my life
You said it would calm me
And increase my stride to a promised land,
Where optimism would rail against the grain
Of sincerity and block out every sinew of pain.
I am not a master of my own destiny
You heard me speak honestly
About the trappings I feel
The walls in a dusty apartment
Melting into me and shrouding out my desires.
This gold ring means nothing to you or me
It was a statement, at some point in our lives
We had an understanding
An innocent conversation regarding love
It is now closed behind lies and profanity.
I cannot sense a revolution or a spark of truth,
All I feel in my heart is loss and jolted blood
A myriad of dark thoughts fills my mind,
And your face keeps me sick to my stomach
Though it is art, clearly photogenic,
It draws out warning signs.
And this is it
A swan song moment
Where dreams ignite memories
And when your taste evaporates from my
Mark McConville is a freelance music journalist from Scotland who has written for many online and print publications. He also likes to write dark fiction and his poetry chapbook Lyrics From The Chamber will be released by Close To The Bone in August 2021.