I wonder what memories revive,
when you touch my hand or see my face.
Is what is old new again?
Are you lost in pillars of memory,
which impose the will of this broken architect?
Do my building still stand strong,
tall,
beautiful?
What power emanates from them,
and what force of will overtakes you,
when the sun catches their corners?
Do you still dance in the great hall,
of our lost, and broken-down love?
Skin,
eat this water.
It is necessary.
Warm , salty water crawls,
down chiseled cheeks,
rolling off a hero chin;
no sustenance.
Jets of hot water slap,
my thick hair and blank face,
my skin refuses to drink it in.
A ghost walks into my shower,
observing the way I am curled up,
helplessly soaking in chlorinated fire,
no chemicals kill these feelings or memories.
The ghost sighs,
unable to affect me.
A lonely time,
with delusions for company,
and the weight of loved ones' feet,
pulverizing my fragile, fleeting sanity.
Late nights,
dirty thoughts;
cyclical sins.
a wheel of pain and pleasure,
crushing boredom and leaving,
aggressive sexual tendencies,
void of any inhibitions without,
the help of vodka on the rocks,
a lighthouse; lonely, desperate souls,
collide and wrap inside of each other.
Andy Veilleux 