White walls were
are
always ruined by dirty finger prints
and
the bleach scrubdowns never made
any difference.
There’s a filthiness to living that no one
ever talks about or
mentions
we all just watch the slow decay of the fragile
innocence.
sinners
the moral middle of the road
Everyday is Halloween
as we dress up as sinners
or saints
when the reality
is somewhere in the middle.
None of us are as good
or as bad
as we paint ourselves
or people paint us to be.
We are all capable of great evil
and magnificient good
but none of us are clean of
the other.
We pretend we are as good as we think
putting on masks and surrounding ourselves
with so many lies,
and half-truths even,
and the kind of friends that tell us how
special and amazing we are
and how we couldn't have been in the wrong.
And that's where the best of friends matter
to tell you you're an idiot
and that you made a serious mistake
or five
but you're still alright,
because you can always fight for redemption.
Sin
We all have our addictions
Sins
A renowned ability to lesion sections of our brains
To avoid guilt or regret in the moment
And choke on it for life
Some happily ever after.
You were the brightest beauty at the Ball,
I the saint capable of heavy sin,
Dark however
Maybe an archangel with phoenix wings
Only capable of flight
And salvation
Every other weekend when my wings grew back.
Mostly,
I ran on the ground,
But occasionally,
I soared.
You rolled the dice twice
Love and snake-eyes,
But you never complained
Cursed your luck
Or mentioned it,
You walked away.
We all walk away,
Whether it’s today, next week, or when you stop inhabiting your body,
We all walk away.
the pressure of boredom
Thinkers,
decimated by boredom,
depression,
wonder where the
'something more'
is.
Pearly gates not just out of reach,
but out of sight,
even out of mind,
for many.
A pressure dances across my forehead,
pounces around my numb ears,
and boots me in between the eyes.
There will be no relief for the saints
sinners
or the dead.
Andy Veilleux 