The bourgeois life

All colours appear to me as one.
Through motley stillicide I’ve become
A hue of white, a splash of grey
A glimpse of life within the fray

All my senses have grown cold
Though I am but a dozen-score old
I have lived centuries, but will never know
What life has really to bestow.

Death appeared to me one day
After years of simmering dismay
Speaking in soft funereal tones
Do you know what you have sown? 

What is life we while away
When all is gone and none can stay
What is suffering but a means to live
In ceaseless longing emptiness

None shall pass the test of time. 
And I have trouble now to rhyme
This inner fire, this fraught desire
To heights I dare not ever aspire.

So tell me what I do not know
To shovel out this perennial snow
And teach me how to navigate
The bourgeois life till I am sate.





You love me, stare into my eyes
Study her fragments in the grey flecks of my iris
She sits on your sagged shoulders
Perched atop your frame, ethereal
Triumphant in her transcendence
She is thinner than nitrogen
But permeates your lungs
Layers of soot collect in your bronchi
From years of inhaling her essence

When you kiss me, she floats down
Her lips plumped crimson
Adept at stealing your kisses
From less deserving women
She is diaphanous
Yet fills the room you inhabit
Her gossamer memories
Reproduce in your cranium
Weightier than cities

You deny her existence
She lies betwixt us every night
When we walk her shadow
Casts a length greater than mine
She is the crepuscular wind that caresses you
The white morning terrors that seize you
The noir filter that drains all women of colour
Everyday she grows, while you pretend
You love me as if I was she

You love me, she stares into my eyes
Gloating in her vicarious victory
She knows, even as she cast you aside
She still possesses you
In every woman’s eyes.