top of page

East West Doom

Eyes fixated above a perforated skyline and your feet pointing east, west

Stubborn in your repelling congeniality, the one you use

For better or for worse despite my many protests

Don’t you cease, look at that sky and deduce

A thousand misinterpreted ways to make me feel like shit

The pillars on the corner, next to the lonesome church and trampled bus stop

The pillars, tender in my fading memory, my willingly withering memory

The pillars that love to make me hate my own hometown

For it’s tainted of you, relentlessly imbibed of you, the skyline corrupted by your eyes

Of looking above us together, an act of the night, a remembrance of the day

East, west, as if you didn’t know, in all your certainty, which direction to choose

So you obey by the middle at all times, dictated by equally repelling forces

Magnets of a ball and chain, the fate of your stride in the hands of sanguineous

Intent for sentimental bloodshed. No, congealed blood; its origin of many sources

Primarily my welcomed desire to accept the curdles by the masses, in honour of

What we could never be

I honour the never and your east west ways

It taught me about human nature, about the repelling congeniality of

Imminent natural stubborns, a river with no tolerance for delays

A grandiose impending doom, impatience, immediacy, thereof

You craved for so majorly, that one more day was an insult to you.

You burned into me unsalvageable desire. My flesh is scorched, arteries and veins ravaged (they hang in the space between what was and could’ve been), presenting me with my own sin – I must look it in

He is passion, etched desire, Unacquainted with a sun or moon Familiar with the pale fire That is often gone too soon A day without my love in arms Is waiting for the sun’s expansion That’s taking pro

bottom of page