We always recall our past lovers,
with such fond memories and warm hearts,
much more than we did when we were with them.
Maybe the answer is simple;
we never gave them enough credit,
when we were in love with them.
Sadness and bad moments,
pass from memory,
easily enough,
because they are common.
Happy moments linger awhile,
and dance on in your mind,
and memories of love,
well, those last forever.
This poem is to you,
it’s unmistakable,
you’re my regret, oh,
that’s inappropriate,
your pain is disproportionate,
I tore your heart out,
you were supposed to die then,
but nobody ever cares enough for that,
broken-hearted,
long living,
figure it out.
Maybe you’re the one I never talk to,
down in a major city I chose to walk through,
in an ill-fated attempt to find you,
and have a break-through,
before I break-down,
or break it down,
real simple like,
the way you understand it,
or the only way I know how to speak with,
who gives up first, the chicken of the egg?
Is that where we end, am I a chicken,
because I’d never tell you this,
not on my best day,
when my inhibitions to speak,
are put on lay-away,
and I forfeit my deepest secrets,
deeper than the gulf’s oil plumes,
our love was running on fumes,
in an empty tank we couldn’t fill.
Maybe you’re my friend,
that wants to be more,
but I can’t see through,
your vault-style front door,
you won’t let me in,
even though you want to;
are you saving me, or you?
Maybe I want to see you naked,
I want to see you sweat,
and see what you will do for me,
and that’s inappropriate,
because it’s honesty,
and who are you kidding?
honesty’s forbidden.
Maybe you’re one of the army,
I march onto the pitch with,
and I’ve got your back,
through thick and thin,
count me in,
I’ll save you every time,
or at least take the fall,
all for one, one for all.
Maybe I want to love you,
but I’m afraid,
too used to dancing on a razor-blade,
trying to find someone to hold,
when everyone wants to get laid,
but that;s inappropriate,
because it’s the truth,
don’t let it come out of the booth,
or they’ll come for you,
and shut you down,
you’ll never work in this town,
again.
Maybe your life is a mess,
and I want to pick up your pieces,
or I tried before,
you abandoned me,
but who’s counting?
Maybe I left you for dead,
ripped out that heart and said,
you need to move on,
love somebody else it’s easy,
just like they do on the TV,
at least try,
and that’s how I waved goodbye,
once or twice,
and I’ve got back that pain thrice,
or fifteen times over,
and it’s not easy to handle sober,
so I stayed drunk,
and so stoned I just slept,
until I forgot the reason I wept,
and rolled over to a brand new day,
can you say the same?
Maybe you’re my mentor,
a real role model,
but where are your skeletons dancing?
How big is that closet?
Was there a time you failed,
and truly lost it?
You don’t know where the edge is,
til you’ve gone over it,
and maybe you have,
and it shows in your eyes,
from the scars that reflect out,
and shine back off my own,
that’s communication,
that’s truth.
Maybe I still love you,
and I watched you move on,
or regress back to a useless state,
where you can’t help me, and you’re killing you,
so what good are you,
and who am I to judge?
Your brain’s permanently fucked,
mentally-fed yourself date-rape drugs,
until you’re a zombie,
and I can’t look at you.
And here I am,
it’s one A M,
the game is over,
it’s time for bed,
but there’s always so much,
that remains unsaid,
and I’ll never say,
talking to myself,
a broken soliloquy.
I live like that,
and the words kick holes in my silent demeanour,
like Rakim kicks holes in speakers,
the sound begs to live,
and I try my best,
but you know my best was never good enough,
for me at least,
and maybe for you,
but that was my decision,
and the truth of it is frozen,
dangling in time for you to read,
but you’re hindsight-illiterate,
and your rage blinds you more,
so what was I was there for?
Nothing,
and I vanished like the wind,
the way I came in,
before pulling out,
to applause from the crowd,
for my clever joke,
which leads nowhere,
except the end.
Sometimes things are supposed to hurt,
and they don't,
or they shouldn't and they do,
either way it's all on you;
your mental stability,
your mind-game ability,
emotional, mental artillery.
There's a certain way I move,
when I give you the non-committal slip,
I watch your traps,
make sure not to trip,
up, I have to avoid capture,
leave you waiting for my rapture,
we weren't made for one another,
we just end up hurting each other
I hate rhyming,
don't know why I do it in the first place,
it never lets you fully express yourself,
especially when you're living in the worst place,
possible,
it's plausible,
I just like to suffer,
keep making it rougher,
mental frustration,
extreme pupil dilation,
your mind an empty-souled nation,
blank yet devouring like,
staring into the eyes of Satan.
And that's where I live,
when you try to make me choke back tears,
but the faucets off,
overestimate your own strength again,
you're predictable,
no surprise from you,
you're egotistical,
completely sadistic,
ultimately narcissistic,
you make me go ballistic,
with the shit you peddle for truth,
as if I can't feel the rain,
through your makeshift umbrella-roof.
Now we're both soaking wet,
and that's because I turn you on,
your tear-ducts that I mean,
the wounds you left were unclean,
and not healing properly,
a one-sided game of Monopoly,
where you tried to steal all the property,
and never even spared a thought for me.
Why did we live like that,
and make each other suffer,
used one another as an experience buffer,
we segregated the real world from one another.
You must miss me,
everyday but today,
or maybe today the most,
you won't escape my phantom,
can't get away from my ghost,
It follows you,
trying to choke you with dirty hands,
holding you back just like your new man,
and that's the best thing for you,
imagine letting your ambition,
be free of your inhibition,
and having to face your dream,
and realize you're not the queen,
you're just a lowly servant,
pretending to hand down verdicts,
but the jury's still out on your life,
and what you will become,
how long will you try before you're done,
and you just give up again?
All that potential,
and no motivation to achieve,
you needed a new man,
invented a brand new disease,
an excuse to bring you to your knees,
but he isn't going to bring the chain,
that's all your own self-supplied pain,
how long til he complains about the rain,
and decides to ditch out,
even if only emotionally,
leaving his physical shell,
so you have a home to crawl into,
when you're sick of trying,
and you want to resume dying.
What more could I ask for,
that I didn't already have?
I had the promise of a lifetime,
that fell apart, because you were sad.
And sometimes that's how you'll roll,
when you invest years of your life,
an empty chest, vacant of a soul,
from your ex-lover's twisted little knife.
That's just the heart talking,
not being filtered by my brain,
sometimes the best way to say it,
is to lose focus and spit all the pain.
That's what life's like sometimes,
on the darkest nights,
I got caught up dancing in the dark,
a never-ending fist fight,
and look where that got both of us,
endless blood, broken bones, and pus.
I realized your pool was too shallow,
I needed room to swim,
I needed to spread my wings,
achieve my dreams,
not stick around swimming,
in your lifeless streams.
You had potential,
and you smashed it under your heel,
shrugged the responsibility,
refused to accept dreams were real,
and now you're a ghost dancer,
jumping through your different acts.
Can't you hear the clapping,
the curtain's closing,
and there's nowhere else for your display,
once it shows your act will go away,
and maybe it's for the best,
you can discover your true self,
stop hiding it on a dusty shelf,
if it's even still alive,
i wish you weren't dead inside,
because I remember you,
despite what you think of me,
and I recall when you loved me,
and the way I loved you back,
before you destroyed yourself,
and left your ambitions for dead,
that was the fatal moment for us,
I took a shot to the back of the head,
and bled you out of me.
Sometimes I can still taste the blood,
your toxicity that poisoned my mind,
is still reminiscent in the taste,
your shadows still dance in your place,
but I got over them and their thin frame,
I escaped your madhouse,
rejoined the world of the sane,
just in time,
before your personality feeding frenzy,
your ultimate killing blow, to end me,
there was no hell you could have sent me,
to match us darkness, because we were empty.
Never better,
trust me,
never better.
Andy Veilleux 