26/1/2009 - if i was perfect

as i draped cold linen,

to quickly dampen my cold white anger,

amidst the slow wet and chilling rain,

its puddles slogging the soles in my shoes.

if i was perfect,

then this would be easy,

alas not left a daunting prospect,

between two gorges a bridge needs to be.

and when i finally achieve,

my epitome of perfection,

Ill know who to give grateful reprieve,

and to whom a vengeful vendetta.

a cold burning white anger,

hadnt been riled in a while,

you just had to burn it,

ignite it.

so now you must taste the bitter chalice,

of what is my incurred wrath,

and my flash of the blade,

will leave you for dead.

my tangled hair ruffles in the wind,

my bliss stepped back centrestage,

a strong defiance envelops me,

fists clenched ready to take flight.

was it really necessary,

or are you playing adversary? it doesnt do us good at all,

a bitter sweet relationship rise and fall.

and amidst all this cold white driven anger,

pure testosterone overwrites it all,

like a symbol of irony,

where lust playfully cussed my lips to ponder.

if i was perfect,

then this would be easy,

consigned to history.

alas may not meant to be.