Bad Practice

poem

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Of the songs we have made none satisfy or last;

We drink and drown and die in words, words, words —

See your shadow there, imprisoned in the past

Slavering for half a song, while melodies unheard

Slip through your fingers: was it then for this

Beauty withered early, died a thousand noble deaths,

Only to dissolve in one last unholy kiss?

Your lips on mine, we share a single breath

That lays waste to all it touches, save our most secret selves

We’ve buried in caverns far beneath the light

Unknown to those alike who dream or delve;

So our souls lie decaying, corruptible and bright.

Voiceless, thoughtless in the end despite our pains

We would unearth ourselves, but nothing remains.