poet

telltale love

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

 

A divine comedy dances,

on lines etched into flesh,

long ago by the crimson beauty.

 

A foggy mirror reflects,

beams of radiant moonlight,

through the evaporating tea and milk,

 we used to drown all of our problems.

 

There's no cycle here,

no spinning wheel to,

repeat the same story.

 

There's nothing to reinvent, 

no foundation for this to ride on,

and no carriage pulled by wild horses,

symbolic of our deepest desires and dreams,

now withering and dying in the cracks of love's floor.

 

No heart beats,

beneath floor-boards,

of cryptic, rotting elegance,

to alert the proper authorities.

 

Something is screaming,

deep within my soul however,

and I'm begging for an outlet;

It will die between these lines.

do you still dance?

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

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?

the weight of loved ones

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

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.

And all of my words were false

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

 

I failed you,

I failed you,

I failed you,

as a lover,

and a friend.

 

The blood has drained,

the night has settled,

but the love won't leave.

 

I pour words onto the pain,

pain uses me in return by,

pointing out the futility,

of everything I've written.

 

Pain questions my words,

and on bad nights,

my dear friends,

I do the same.

sacrificial sleep

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

You can read these words,

and feel sorrow touch you,

but you're not here anymore,

and no comfort finds me here.

 

There's a beast stirring,

underneath the calm waters,

of a toxic pool you left long ago.

 

Do you remember him?

 

Sleep is sacrificial,

It dies for thoughts,

which take precedence,

in the harshest of times.

 

My hands won't stop shaking,

there's a broken-down undertone,

to every smile and laugh now.

 

Fragmented thoughts,

crumble together with empathy,

as naked friends lying together,

seeking a warm body,

secretly,

a warm heart.

 

The crumbling solves nothings,

the foundation it creates,

can't support a home,

nor would it want to.

Weakness is

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

One can only run away,

from their thoughts for,

a certain amount of time,

before they catch up to you.

 

They'll clutch at your heels,

rip at your tender, exposed flesh,

pull their way under your virgin skin,

until they become as much a part of you,

as the constant numb that invades your days.

 

We're told all our lives,

there is a time for strength,

never a time for weakness;

but they're wrong, broken.

 

Weakness exists, and,

humanity is weakness.

Numb floating

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

Numb,

floating,

helpless,

splitting the water,

as I drift,

towards nothing,

significant.

 

What matters?

 

The tears,

touch down,

on paved street,

reeking of asphalt,

and blurry memories.

 

It was never enough.

 

Heels echo,

in crowded corridors,

where the rug tries to muffle it,

and fails miserably.

 

Pressed shirts,

dark pants and ties,

a gathering for a fallen,

cherished and loved one.

 

Pain spikes through,

the numb feelings that,

reside in fractured hearts,

pouring blood into your soul,

swelling it with pain and bruising.

 

Life's not easy,

and every loved one,

eventually leaves,

until you leave them.

 

Cold reality,

and I love you,

don't ever forget that.

 

I hope I don't,

leave you first,

I couldn't bear,

the thought of you sad,

on my unworthy account,

my dearest of friends and loved ones.

 

Times are tough,

and they'll get tougher still,

but we hold hands and heart,

and rebel against death the best we can.

 

That's the only way.

a special day

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

1:03,

and it's a special day,

a big dawn coming for all.

 

We will remember you,

always,

memories of you,

indestructible,

vivid.

 

I remember you smiling,

in no-so-distant flashbacks;

your benevolence changed us.

 

An angel passes,

we must all grow stronger. 

Shadow dance

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

Poets are,

photographers,

on partially-built,

grey skyscrapers.

 

We perch on top,

balancing our desire,

with our fear of heights.

 

We can never show you,

the beauty of the city,

we find ourselves on top of,

despite our best efforts.

 

The concrete city,

is not so dull to us,

the pink underbelly,

teases us playfully,

but won't tease you.

 

I would slash my wrists,

to bleed all over this page,

if it meant something to you;

to hell with the consequences.

 

My crimson essence,

dances into your mind,

awakening forgotten life,

pushing a new passion out,

regenerating hope in hopeless,

people, who don't see beauty for,

what it's worth,

i never stopped,

and I couldn't try,

hard enough to ever,

keep you happy or near,

me in the best or worst of,

times when things broke down,

and there was no solace for the,

wicked and the cruel intentions we,

bounced off of one another's innocence,

on our way to a broken dawn with a shattered,

dusk that always served to remind us of how bad,

our failure was with everything we sincerely tried for.

 

Some things that are broken,

aren't looking for anyone to fix them,

and some shadows dance a lot more,

beautifully than some of the brightest flames.

A brush of inspiration

/ andyveilleux / 4 Comments

A starry-night sadness,

drifts through my ears,

escaping in visions,

and flash-memories,

through my window.

A clock disintegrates,

working it's way down,

this out-reached branch,

we call consciousness.

Will it bounce on impact,

when it meets the floor's rug?

Will it splatter carefully;

silver over black, white, yellow,

and

red?

Will the broken-man's dreams,

drift down the sorrowful waters,

of Monet's liquid Palazzo da Mula?

The smile teases,

at the corners of the lips,

because life is fragile.