Where else can I be...ManchVegas...

Why Does Darkness Look So Beautiful?

I knew something was wrong
that rainy day I opened my heart.

Everywhere I looked I saw bats
instead of doves.

I began to ask myself . . .
Why does darkness look so beautiful?

While looking in the mirror at my heart pulsing
I realized my blood was no longer red
and turning a tainted hue of black.

I felt a cold chill in the air
instantly frost biting my soul

Maybe I forgot to close the freezer door –
No wait, I turned around – it was her.
Why does darkness look so beautiful?

I thought it was cold in here, I told her,
Did you know it makes me feel like standing
in a morgue when you’re near me?

She seemed lost for words
Then she began to speak to me

Her lips, sounding like velcro slowly being pulled apart
as she spewed deceitful words

Part of me was paralyzed by her presence
I faced my demon, walked away, and wondered. . .
Why does darkness look so beautiful?

I thought I heard music, a harpsichord maybe?
No, it was her cell, she was texting again.

It became perceptible
everything about her sounds or looks evil.

Dark eyes that cry blood because her soul
doesn’t know what tears are.


Sleeping means resting on a bed of ice
as your body heat thaws the surface you rest on

Only then, you’re reminded of her pain
as buried blades begin to impale my flesh
where I lay.

At last I walked away not resting
never to look at her fury again

Why does darkness look so beautiful?
I guess I always knew - it just hurts.

META4 -120108
Raymond M. Fournier

Wow, what an amazing piece. " ...an ocean Carrying me
Lost at sea With No one To hold onto ..." I can relate so much to this feeling. You can feel the emotion.

Keep writing and I look forward to reading more.

Raymond

“Walking Away”

Why are there shadows of faces in cracked mirrors?
Why does every room I walk into have to be empty?

Maybe it’s a mirage of those who have lived here,
Maybe there just gone, or just visited these rooms.

I walk in soft leather shoes,
Being careful not to scratch the hard wood floors
Although they echo my footsteps

Looking down I see a clearer reflection of me
It seems to be clearer, but not in the mirror.
Maybe I shouldn’t walk with my head down so much

I sit on the floor in this empty house,
And realize that only yesterday, it was full.
Reality whispers in my ears; “today is not yesterday”

Every room had texture
Every room had personality
Every room had someone in it
Today it is empty.

Sorry becomes synonymous with loosing.
And those last words of good bye translate too eternally.

There is never a happy ending to what once was
As I walk away all I notice is;
Why these streets feel like a concrete tred-mill?

RMF 12-28-08