Soul

I spend glorious days
and magnificent nights
wandering, drinking, lying…
thinking of past loves.
I remember the love that was professed,
the body that was shared;
more sacred than communion.
The sadness cuts with precision
like a skilled surgeon with a sharp scalpel.
My hands shake as I reach for a glass and a smoke.
I speak as though hardened and indifferent
but that is the furthest from the truth.
My chest burns
as my heart lumps in my throat,
begging to leave this vessel.
It knows they each took a piece
of it with them,
a piece it will never get back;
rendered incomplete for eternity.
I pray these are just the feeling of being green;
growing pains that will define themselves on my face,
so that they may be known.
A quick decision must be made,
for the sword of Democles
hangs over my head.
Spare me the sadness of loss
and the loneliness of indecision.
I wish to be laid to rest now,
no longer a prisoner
of these thoughts and feelings.
I wish to be mechanical.
I wish a filter to process
the loss and loneliness,
so that my heart no longer absorbs it.
I am but human,
and this so called “Divine Gift”
of choice is but a cruel joke,
a curse…
to which I have become it’s submissive servant.
A warning for those yet to be born to this place:
“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate”