Shadow Man

In your filthy street

splashed with black ooze

his eyes reflect

the darkness of your souls.

As you drive by chatting,

distractedly fiddling with the knobs,

he waits outside.

He can't come in.

Excluded to make the exclusive,

the truth in the lie,

receiving your offer

of kindness and neglect,

detecting you, inspecting you

for a greater mind

cast on the outside.

Your convenient despairs,

your momentary causes

pause as you check your hair.

He's standing there

eyes filled with the inner light.

You don't look past his shoes.

No denouement, no resolution,

just the clock,

bastard child of the church,

forging your collar with each tick.

Spading your hole with each tock.

With dry, dangling tongues,

loping after the cars before you,

keeping in front of those behind

he's there as you realize.

He's there as it dawns,

too late for the light

to reflect anything of note.

He turns his collar to the cold

and walks into the shadows

as you run into your graves.

I'm The Guy

I'll take the blame.

'Cause a guy can't see,

or feel the same.

 

Can you recall?

the night you cried.

The joy between us died.

We no longer our refuge.

It was I with all the rest.

We crushed your pride.

 

We walked hand in hand

one with one being one

losing the meaning

of me and you

in the serene garden

of us.

 

You'd had enough

of the world outside.

Not caring how much

anyone tried.

Along with them

you pushed me aside,

refusing to notice.

 

But, I'm the guy.

So, I'll take the blame.

A guy can't really see,

or even hope

to feel the same.

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