Instinctual

I watched the stars parade amongst the sky,
Exploring their lines so that they were known
if by chance I got to see them again,
Attaching my days and fresh memories
to their icy cold glitter
So I could hold you in my mind,
Easily found, a ready smile.

The air holds my breath as a ghostly vapor.
What enchantment comes over these frozen days
that we must enumerate the past,
Archiving old models before the new ones arrive?
Compelled to remember, forced to forget,
The yearnings, the leanings,
The learnings, the bleedings,
The lust that overcame this Refusing Boy,
This Not-Quite-a-Man,
I wanted to hold you, to kill you,
To fuck you, to love you,
I wanted it all without cost, without patience,
Still trapped in thinking I was due a reward.

So I plunge my hands into my tattered jeans
and retrieve a small handfull of coins,
The remainder of this expensive year,
Full of overpriced bargains and cheap luxuries.
I study the new and old faces there,
Etched in metal not yet cast away,
Beautiful friends, the women and muses,
The occasional man not afraid to say
"I love you" in a crowded room,
Even those ideals claimed as essence
that still cling to my every move,
My base and naked motivation.

I'm glad I did not spend you.
You still have value yet.
I'm fortunate to have found you.
And you, the payoff from a desparate bet.
And then you, so shiny, unaware of intrinsic worth,
Your promise ripe in blossoming youth,
Perfect and soft.
Is it any wonder I am still a slave to ideals?

It is too easy, too cliché, too desparate,
To hand out epitaphs, lay blame, stake hope.
One-by-one, I have missed you.
One-by-one, I could list you
as my salvation; we all want that
Greedy, quick solution.
But labels and attachments,
Do you dare hear them?
They are only the screams of a soul insecure,
A transfer of blame and pain to endure.
I stand accused of a double murder.
My Potential.
Your Time.

And so we take our leave of yet another year.
Again I've chosen ignorance over facing the truth.
Few lessons were learned, few challenges were met,
How is it possible I still feel the spark
of happiness inside of me, ready to ignite?
Perhaps humanity is instinctual
as well as beautiful and sad.