perspective in 38

for the past holds only this wisdom
that love is
a damaging mistake,
and its accomplice,
hope,
a treacherous illusion.

and if ever
these twin poisonous flowers
will begin to sprout again
I will uproot them
and ditch them
long before they take hold.

I want to tear myself from this place
and rise up like a cloud
and float away
melt into the humid summer night
and dissolve somewhere far

but here I am
my legs blocks of concrete
my lungs empty of air
my throat burning

There will be no floating away.

friday 15/09/17