Pretended Not to Play

In the turn of my head
we saw all the songs turn to red
while the marks made-up
the bite of lust that still corrupts

Amazed in pleasure that cannot be measured
even now as I hand out words in surrender
when time may have beat me to the end
where longing and the necessity therein
bring up all those icy, vapor-threaded nights
when I might have been organizing the fights
between seduction and terror both equal
in the stance, and then depth of my fall.

Words have me trapped again,
wound up tight to the vast ocean,
sand between all my toes,
and the sun under cloud haloes.

This is the year of the crumbling lies
introduced to new fabrications of time
that have blasted away any use of me
in the real world, leaving me in the sea
and some vast intensity of dark blue eyes
that I have tried vainly to escape many times
when the hardest part of life was yet to come
but I buried until that old dream grew numb.

The answer was in there
and proof to me, it is laid bare
after years of clues came
but I pretended not to play.