Heartbreak feels good.
So good it hurts deep down to your spine,
deep down to your soul.
You want that ache over and over again;
it’s your drug,
and you need your fix.
You need the pain to survive;
so you’ll wrap yourself in a blanket of sorrow –
soft, lavender, lulling you into sleep
where you find ecstatic dreams in Paradise
and surround yourself inside a womb of rainbows
with color, sound, light, songs, and dreams.
The coasts are calling.
Broken hearts pop you open, render you open to joy
and a merry-go-round of endless delight –
you’re a bottomless cup of want;
for in your eyes, there’s no tomorrow.
But buyer, beware – in the marketplace of life,
you are buyer and seller:
cheap goods on parade.
It’s all a charade
and the game is made
to trap you inside false paradises –
throw the die, buy the lie,
“buy the sky and sell the sky”.
So you tell the sky
that you don’t want her soft blue breasts anymore,
the simplest joy next to Music herself,
but you’d prefer the milk of the Marketplace instead.
Sell yourself and tell yourself
that it’s alright when you can see darkness clearly
in the eyes of your beholders –
obscuridad at its finest!
honor in this disgrace
of a Marketplace
is how many times you’ve sold yourself
and told yourself
that you want more toys;
but these joys
are fleeting and bleeding
you into oblivion.
of the game demands that you “sweat and save
for a shallow grave”,
but you’ve been played
for a fool.
So take your cool
pillows and blankets of heartbreak and ache
and bleed red instead
in your heart and head
and ride those red rivers to rich reposes of joy
which wait at the end of sorrow’s rainbows.
Better to seek the dawn on the flipside of night
through end-to-end coin tosses
than to lay those coins on your eyes
after rolling twelve-thousand sided dies
in the marketplace
where everyone’s a loser, no one’s a winner
and after rolling those dies
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.