April 13, 2014 § Leave a comment


By Matt Lambert

By Matt Lambert

I always wondered how I could be so nostalgic,
of something I destroyed with my fucking hands.
It’s like I’m desperately in the pain of the homesick,
After I burned my beautiful house and its sands.
One thought keeps haunting me like dark magic,
A thought I swallow away but, on my way that bitch stands

Maybe seeing you one last time could have been enough.
Maybe your touch could have reminded me of my humanity.
Maybe the air your breathe means more than the smoke I puff.
A hope, a dream, a wish, a flesh consuming miserable possibility.
I give my best to the worst and my worst to the best, weird stuff.
You’re better off with a best, I’m worse off with a better insanity.

Discovering our forever unsatisfied needs of the early broken;
I was naive to promise you, together we could easily fix,
With the word they dare not say and poetry secretly spoken.
I remember the day we searched for diamonds within a wall of bricks.
I forgot to tell the golden bullet I shot into you was my token.
I forgot how I have lately taught my kisses to play evil tricks.

Ghizlane Radi


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