An Ode To Resentment

Let this city of ours wither to dust, 

the dawn earth engulf our ruins, 

on a quiet winter night–

all we ever were will cease to exist. 

Years I have waned, 

in perpetual torment, 

faltering beneath all I could never be 

and yet, even in my misery and loathing, 

I could never let you be with me. 

My hunt in the morning wreck tells me,

completion isn't a laurel I could not win.

If I had chosen to forsake my trust,

seized the helm that refuses you, 

taken my rightful place at the top,

you would've known the victory, 

you deprived the both of us of. 

Hero, prisoner of my love, 

revel, bask, in your borrowed glory, 

if my tattered and resenting soul was all your grand scheme,

let your skin I kissed be branded by my words–

that my shadow will burn brighter 

than the light that will ever grace your life. 

So go, run to your freedom, recreant

Run before your loneliness shatters you, 

let it be engulfed by your spineless friends, 

until the day you wake up at noon, broken again. 

You will find your peace, traitor, 

in lies a priest could never preach

the silence of their deception will shackle you, 

from the salvation you desperately seek, 

the salvation, you could've found with me. 

In all my vices and fury you never knew, 

I will not be the most fortunate thing to have walked your life, 

but engrave these words onto you, coward

That in all my pride and cruel judgment, 

I will always be the greatest thing to have touched your life. 

I built this world, you fool, 

these scars are the splinters that I bear on my skin, 

every ripple in every lake, 

every rustle in every forest, 

every song in every bird,

they call my name.

When this air of abandonment sits on my throne,

you dare bring another

unworthy to even breathe my absence?

A woman only a mother could love 

A woman another woman couldn't trust 

will never set foot in this totality of mine.

But your own animosity will destroy her,

before my cunning, you will find. 

And yet you need her don't you?

Does she consume all the hours your mind wanders to May?

With every vacuous word you beguile her with, 

you wish the ground took you away, 

to a world where you wish to be alive, 

to a world where you were mine.

Oh I relish your futile faith, 

that one could ever take my place, 

I am amused as my vinyl shivers, 

amidst the sermons your lungs give, 

as you drown in the suffering you made me live in,

as you bury yourself into your desolate life,

when your breath dwindles, 

and you still preach a comfort you will never have.

Master of Tricks, King of Facades, 

the tragedy of your deserted life,

will forever be, my wicked prince,

that your laughter can irradiate dead souls,

but it will always elude the grave upon which you lay. 

When the abyssal calls me again,

I will bow down into The Lethe.

My voice will bellow from depths unknown, 

as I curse the air you breathe. 

Oh and in your inane vanity, 

I do not need the guile of poetry, 

the wiles of Versailles,

Ravel adorned to my evening gown, and

Bordeaux dripping from my lips,

I do not need to whisper a single word

in the language you revere,

to tell you to go fuck yourself.