There’s no dawn where we live.
I watch as you step inside my soul, scavenging for a candle holder,
accompanied by an indefatigable passion to touch this purely
In my hands I caress your ethereal skin, freckled with my scars. On
your lips, I turn your truths into lies
I’m all that you should despise
Oh, my beautiful marionette
When will you realize?
Tell me when it gets cold, and I’ll lend you my straight-jacket,
whilst I put on another disguise.
There’s an equilibrium in madness.
In our tunnel; you had the vision
to descry the years of loyalty beyond the brutality. And time has
stolen everything except our problems.
You see, I have always been the architect of my own abyss.
Until you came along and furnished it into your own wishing well,
leaving me to rest & dwell, in this never-ending boundary spell.
Where my subconscious manifest monstrosities,
beneath a church bell.
I remember when we met, you told me that you’re just a figment of my
imagination. I didn’t know it at the time, that we had seen each other
before, somewhere in the trenches of an ominous metaphor.
The truth is I am a custodian of doubt, anchored by a lofty disregard
I don’t remember the walls being this shade of black. I don’t remember
why our ghost writer left and booked himself in for an exorcism.
There’s no dawn where we live
I watch as you self-flagellate, injecting yourself with Stockholm Syndrome
I watch your ambivalent tears burn with the aesthetic light of your
smile destitute of truth
And you know that i would let you go, if you would let me..
but you’ve always been more stubborn than me
even now, as you stand there..
laying your incorrigible flowers
on this free-fall bed.
[ A.G. Diedericks is a cinephile in the midst of being gentrified into a bibliophile.. Colonized by mediocrity; He moonlights as a clandestine writer. You’ll find him in a dark alley over at the cuckoo’s nest; where he often lays to rest in Cape Town, SA. ]