Always Looking

Years of decay,
flaunted like a parade.
the purpose I believe
is to fuel my ever growing rage
for a love that died and
left me blind,


trapped...


A prisoner held by
remorse and mistrust.
I roam these dreary corridors
looking for reminders of her.


But the good times
are hidden behind cobwebs and rust.


Hanging in my parlor,
the place one hides when tears erupt
is a photograph of her...
Lovely blond,
blued eyed she is.
She glares from behind the glass.


Seated in my crumbling
chair of self-pity
I look at her so pretty and fair.


She always screams bastard,
bastard, god damn
you jealous fucker!


I'm forced to think of something else.