Russell Crow

Silver Star - 3,182 Points (May 25th,1995)

An Infinite Phase Of Guilt - Poem by Russell Crow

What is this place; there used to be an echo, a single moment of blissful peace
The sun shining perfectly bright, sprinkled with the tune of a joyful noise
Now it’s replaced with an essence of darkness difficult to erase
Light condenses into a hollow shell for once it floods, illuminating
Guilt, regret, panic will dance around merrily, mockingly
The air so thin like a quilted sheet of a cloud; is this a simulation
It’s extremely comfortable among this circus of an illusion
These eyes, these bloodshot, watery eyes are mute, closed for one simple reason
To avoid watching the ground prepare a concrete grave
Maniacally cackling, awaiting this broken heap with an eerie grin
It may wait awhile although seconds tear through reality mimicking scissors
Everything is flowing carefully slow, patiently, respectfully
A solemn dedicatory moment of intricate silence and reflection
The mess life was determined to corrupt
Will be the mess the hurried, sweating, frantic paramedics won’t be able to mend
This broken heap of a shattered, scattered person who once lived
What were the traumatic events leading to this, leading to tempt disaster
Was it the broken arm, being the failure who never was enough
The collapse of the remaining sanity
The death of the man who simultaneously raised and cursed this human
The death of the woman who birthed this human then proudly left without a trace
Or is it the loving, disapproving relationship society forbids
Oh great, the news crew has arrived, among a million screams belonging to a million fingers
Pointing at this caricature of a free-falling nightmare
The ambulance sirens are wailing but have arrived too late
A convoluted laugh escapes from pursed lips
The mess life was determined to kill will finally get its wish
But the hurried, sweating, frantic paramedics are desperately trying to fix broken pieces
While the crowd has silently shaded their eyes in a silent cry…
What is this place…cold yet clear
Though the essence of darkness is still a fog too difficult to expunge
Illuminating light, engulfing and consuming the color of these blurry eyes
The once broken arm has become a lost cause
Severed, shattered, placed in jar as a permanent reminder; replaced by a fake
And now guilt, regret, panic are happily married
They received their happy ever after like they always wanted
a tortured soul miserably crying at the destruction of the failed convoluted scheme…
A living corpse branded by the tattoo of fortune’s fool pinned to this lonely hospital bed
Is this what I always destined to be; a fool, a jester to my own miscalculation
I found myself gullible to the perfect stories fables fed to me
Now I have nothing, nothing at all
My remaining family wants nothing more to do with me
Alex, my love, took his life in order to join me in death eternally
My heartbeat is as weak as an ant attempting to lift an entire apple
What if I turn off the oxygen, would it finally…
Maybe…maybe…it would…finally…finally…kill me…

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Poem Submitted: Monday, May 13, 2013

Poem Edited: Tuesday, May 14, 2013

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