Have you ever noticed the way she walks?

Feet pacing through the halls like a heartbeat

Always looking away like she’s got something to hide

Plumped cheeks never fail to remind me of a peach

Ripe and flared enough to pick from the trees

 she has always been my favorite thing to notice

 

But since when did her eyes fail to reach mine

Since when did we become two strangers sitting in the emptiness of our cherry wood dining room table?

 

I know it’s been difficult but since when did your nightmares become the source to your nostalgia

Since when did the reflections of your temptation become as aparant as that of a mirror?

The first face to validate my beating heart 

 Is now unrecognizable

Whoever wrote this story,

May it the works of god or the wry twisted sense of humor of the universe

Would never even think of giving you the role as the main character

God forbid you shall ever be named the protagonist

 

No this author has condemned you to be the control in an experiment

Manipulating your every thought

Your very emotions

To be such a lifeless comparison

Only to show the worthlessness our society has succumb to

 

You have yielded to such manifestation,

Placed into routine like the cattle ready to be slaughtered

Naïve to the truth your head has grown so thick so arrogant

I sometimes wonder if your head is filled with slime

For your opinionated ways have lead to the grant of your own subjugation

Placed into perfect packaging at your local supermarket

Wasting away hours for a screen to show you a world you already have

Like the hampster running hastly on the wheel

never reaching an actual destination

Unable to understand that this is your own crucifixion

Nailing your own hands to the walls that life has specifically built for you

 

Since when have the reasons for your existence melted away like the very candle you’d leave in my room during the late hours of the night?

Just so I wouldn’t be afraid of the dark

The moments we spent together were symphonies I stored in a music box

And am now forced to play them over as the box slowly rusts away to debris

 

Our bondage that was once a sturdy indestructible brick wall of cement and endless labor

 Has now become an old worn down wall filled with graffiti

And the once beautiful memory of what it used to be

And after this terrible loss

I ask you…

 

Why am I the only one who has shown up to mourn at its obituary?

 

And since when did the bee that transports the pollen become more important than the stigma that nurtures it?