stand above your life and do it.

the streets are empty
and it's 12:42 at night.

i'm walking down the main drag
a bud in each ear.
they're blaring horribly cliched lyrics to an age-old beat
that i still can't bear to turn off.

car crosses the street a few blocks down,
looks like a patrol.
we won't bother each other tonight.

i could say
what i think
but it would not get across
what i feel.

memory
and all that goes with it
is only yours.
you can love moments in your life
you can, reminisce about that day when you rode your bike through the cars on the street and how you almost crashed into that old woman and then laid in the park drinking pop and laughing about that one joke which over time has lost its touch. (what doesn't?)

but telling the story
will never give the person the feeling.
of enlightenment
of contentment
of pure exhilaration.

while i tiptoe along the curbs, a familiar song plays down the block.
i glide at a faster pace, and i see a figure twirl and flow up above
and it's you.

i walk upstairs to the second story of buildings
sneak to the large entry,
and watch you perform the admirable task
of tap-dancing with your soul and unabashedly loving life.

i make my presence known
and you stop.
(but you don't make excuses for your little show, clever girl)

i offer to walk you home
you smile and take it.

and as we walk these lonely streets
with no alert life around for miles
we blare a tune from your boombox,
and swoon along this asphalt-ridden lane.
we remember...
and then we go home.

rain begins to come down
as we lay on your bedroom floor and watch it fall.
i stay with you tonight
and hold your hand.
we're not the sort of fools who let such moments become misinterpreted (or ruined, on account of physical desire).
instead, we're the sort of fools who hope that oneday we can relive some of these misbegotten adventures without care of age or label or social stigma.

it will never happen.

instead tonight
we will relive the past
and all that came with it
and laugh and smile and say goodbye.



we do so.


and then we fall to slumber
in the warm comfort of nostalgia
unwilling to entertain the possibility
that it was never that good to begin with.

__________________________________

this is a universal story,
and my version may not particularly work for you.
yet still
the message is
that we must never allow ourselves
to believe that there was such a time
where everything was
and i hate the word
perfect.
an illusion invented
by the most naive of persons
whose great calamity was introducing to people the idea
that the past might've been better than we'd known at the time.
(it wasn't.)
it can be,
but only if you alter certain sections.

my words on the subject may have already been spoken
and such sentences may have been repeated for years and years
and i may in fact hold no actual sense of identity at all.
i may be renting out a persona
available at your local idea of heaven.


the words that i use and the notions that i present may never be my very own.

i will instead rely upon the knowledge
that my sole fleck of individuality
comes from my scream.
for no one will ever do so
for a reason similar to mine.

:)
fending off against the dissenting and disenchanted maggots of society,
it's my preferred weapon of choice.