Malaise. My darkest of gloamings,
Cigarette by the window, eye-rubbed into frustration. (A saxophone bleeds
The sun hardly rises, behind a tempestuous cloud cover. through the silence)
There is no comfort,
Albeit, like saltwater to thirst, parodies of paradise,
Difficulties broaden; even complex theories do not imagine solutions.
Such boggling thought,
Prostrated on the floor, chain-smoking cigarettes.
While my forehead is flattened against the glass.
I could lean on these chromatic, celestial walls.
In an endless queue with (A trumpet wails
Others, frazzled in their own scrutinizing tests, Into the heavens)
Struggling for reason-
Or maybe they have fallen asleep standing.
So I’ll criss-cross and cut between them all,
To reach the end, because I am certainly not tired,
Where a mirror taller than sky scrapers (The blue notes blend
Beckons through my projected image to come closer. with heartbeat)
But reflection could not agree with its maker’s image,
The other’s snapped from their dreams
To pry my eyes away.
Trust within I learned to understand.
And beyond me, ignites the sun (An orchestra strikes in marcato
Dissolving remnants of scattered grey skies, horns, trumpets, and tubas)
Into the brightest thing my eyes ever saw-
So I follow it
Until my skin tears, splits, and rips off my cheeks & chest. (Saxophone rumbles
Muscles, tendons, shrivel and snap, the last word and fades)
My lips dry to dust.
But lucky me. I made it.