Dirty Truth
The ocean isn’t just in me it’s brine and bitter mead, the ruin of old kings. While you count stars like school yard children, I count the empty glasses of fallen men.
You don’t see what I see. This leaf, this godforsaken leaf isn’t some song of golden days, but a remnant of something lost, trampled under the boots of those who never looked back.
With your clean hands and ivory teeth, your love is woven fine, silk-threaded, unspoiled. Mine is a war-horn’s cry, a blade buried deep, a storm that leaves nothing standing.
You follow the path, straight and true. I take the broken road, where shadows whisper and forgotten gods laugh. I break the rules just to feel the sting.
And I am bold enough to say it as the wind prowls, a mangy wolf at my heels. Nobody sings of this moment, but the universe knows I was here. I have left my mark upon its bones.
Clairvoyant when drunk, master of the long con, wearing borrowed names like the wandering faeries. All this deception just to carve out a single truth.
There’s beauty in the wreckage, if only you’d stop trying to make everything so fucking pretty.