Confessions to the Exiled

Part 6/6 of "From Emerald to Hesa", a collection of poems and artwork paired together, started about 1.5 years or so ago. Figured now was as good a time as any to wrap them up! So, the poem for this piece:

I have come to learn
From the perfect science of chronometry
That one-hundred ninety-five is the perfect number

The number of days
Between miswired chess plays and our last contact,
And there to the observance of your life well living

We were never meant to exist on the same plane,
Being out of place is in my very nature

I’ve already failed
I’m afraid, you’re an iconic reflection
Everything I could have ever dreamed of for myself

This erosion of confident steel
Did not come in the stillness of night

First, the tragedy of editing,
No control to stay a brush’s flight

Then, failure to grow in foreign soil,
A waste of years of appetite’s blight

Last, crushed by the weight of your changes,
And I carry the self-rotting spite

It's funny,
That song I used to love so much has inverted itself,
The one about strangers, covered by the setting of three suns
now, I've become the antagonist in that tale

Is it wrong
For me to bathe in the vicariously nostalgic?
There’s humor in this alcohol on ice, harmonies for us
When we were just a little bit younger, and more naive

What is the purpose in making a connection
when it's going to tear me to pieces this way?

I don't think it'll ever make a difference
That I never did make use of your forgiveness

But maybe I’m just wallowing in self-pity
And calling it dignity

I look discarded
In the midst of the evolution of nihilism
When I lost you,
I started to re-evaluate these shapes
And came to find it all misplaced
And once I lost the shame,
I lost the will

I’ve stood in this exact spot before

Trying to starve this impulse of harm

My head has become
An echo chamber, flooded now with cloned rounds
And it will create fireworks of its own accord

would it be too concerning,
maybe too bleakly comedic
to say that the back of my head
could make for the finest paint I've ever used?

I think I have to live life like there's no heaven
waiting for me after I’ve completed my work

Lick the wounds,
Suffer the cage
Writhing depraved
In a life
Marred by blame

lay me out,
put me down
The time is now
To get lost,
never be found

You're buried and gone,
And I'm being haunted by our memories,
But I wish it was your ghost instead of those shadows

If only
I could put tens of thousands of frozen wastes between us,
desecrated waves to break the ground and splinter the road back
Then you would never know if I were dead or alive

Still, I have to thank you for getting to know me,
Now will you please forget this?

No apologies
This time around for the words that I wish I could take back
Fragile senses
Won’t allow it, and I know pride is the fall
The inaction’s my fatal flaw
Drenched in crimson and salt
All I have left

I’m in desperate need
Of frigid therapy after this fallout
And it is by obsolete blood that you will obey

I will come to kill the cure,
I’ll adore the digital touch
Of a stranger, and find comfort
In the loveless apex of smothering dust

It seems that villainizing the penetration
Is the only out I have

a static peak means I'll see you soon
Stay away from the tides in the swamp

Subcutaneous,
These lessons will make my metamorphosis,
burrow out of my flesh to make the cleansing begin

Love may fix all this despair
But there are some things
Just beyond repair