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Part 3 : Autonomy of Being

I remember those distant nights where I’d carry you like an emblem of pride,

Now you’re something to hide,

I’m cradled in your arms alone, my mistress of the night.

I’d cry for your troubles and my own, or at least I’d try to.

But you’d prevent me. You’d prevent a lot of things.

I thought I’d outgrow you but with me you’ve grown.

I couldn’t tell if I was happy or sad, but that didn’t matter.

The only thing on my mind was the need to find another disguise to mask the mayhem inside,

And in that, I found you.

 

I would have called you my shadow if it weren’t for your glow.

The streams of whisky which once burnt my chest now feel like a warm hug from an old friend.

You were familiar, and you never disagreed.

At the end of your bottle lies the sediment of my dreams.

All the things that might have happened to a man if he sought another path, ignorant of your gleam.

I saw you in me, a place vagrant with red eyes, causing an idle tension which builds with time. Your ripe body has soured, yet your poison is still electrifying. 

Every time you touch my lips the sensation is comforting. 

I don’t want to but I want you, I need you now.

I’d sing you all my sorrows, and you’d listen so attentively. 

When my fists tightened, my jaw clenched and my cheeks wetted, you’d subdue me. 

That’s what I am now, subdued. 

There are no seasons anymore.

Your dark clouds linger overhead, and when the sun seems fit to burst through, the winds change and I’m back again.

Let it shine or let it pour, but pease, no more fucking clouds.

 

By Jack Donoghue.