Sad Romantics

world falls apart
it's all going to burn

nobody's gonna sleep anymore
too many strangers, not enough doors
nights are ours
streets own us

we're dreaming of houses that broke
no where to go
in love with a reckless soul

we're just harlequin dreams
rolling around in mental romantic
occupancy
becoming a yellow love letter to the moon
we split our souls and conjure up
conversations with our guardian angels
asking
what shall we choose
who shall we be
the sad romantics are sometimes
speechless
running the hourglass down
leaving wonder and questions
for our own hearts to hallucinate
the answers we are denied

rock and roll will cure us
the sad mad house that broke us
will burn
but we will never wish to return
we'll be euphoric in our
medicated heaven that separates us
from a living hell
and who needs sleep
oh well

we'll run in the streets and pretend we
are fully clothed and desired
we'll electrify the angelic ones
with barbed wire hair
sad romantics with glass in hand
tear in our eye and nostalgia 
for a lover
we'll live in reclusive asylums 
writing poems about skyscrapers and
pavements 
walk down corridors that shun us
and on shiny streets slick with rain
the light will swallow our lonely footsteps
the sunsets will make us cry
our new houses now prisons
the sky is a dream
and we're all just meandering
we'll sit and wonder
become restless and we were sifting
miracles surely
but they turned into sawdust

one train ride away from mama and
sunshine to another somewhere
another sometime
but the skeletons are already in place
you will never be an angel
and the old books that you cradle
on rainy haunted midnights
smell like the tears of a saint
those tunnels can't take us back
those clocks won't kiss us young again
our bodies will remember
when our mouths forget to speak

and maybe the fairytales have died
or maybe they are in a cab disappearing
around a strange corner somewhere
beneath a winter moon 


I wrote this on a sleepless night in the summer of 2016. It became the title of a chapbook I wrote and published on Create Space. Although my little chapbook never found its audience it was on my bucket list to do. Success doesn't always have a dollar sign, it is the completing what one sets out to do.
So whether you are sad, lonely, romantic or neither or maybe life has taken so much from you that makes no sense at all and yet you are still brave enough to be here and live this life, this poem is for you.