This Won't Be the Last Time...

That falling feeling you get when you close your eyes:
Sifting shadows, shady substance,
Dizzy dancing
Tunnel blocks.
No help for this,
No help for that.
Sorrow, apology in action, not meant
To harm
To tear
To rip
At your core
Like mine was ripped by you...
Chewed up, spat out, stamped on, heated, frozen, cut, eaten, defecated...
Bitter? Bit.
Bye bye, bastard.
I guess.
I’d rather not,
But bye.
So, if words are tinted with blood and blade and broken glass,
There’s sorrow and apology here--
Just the faintest hint, behind the buzzing cardboard cutout that is
The façade--
Broken, dusty, beaten, rusty,
Laying in the grass on a cold summer’s day, wishing for the past.
Past
Broken glass
What’s past is past.
It doesn’t feel like that sometimes.
And this won’t be the last time, and the knowledge keeps going;
This won’t be the last time...
A promise, sent on lips that taste like bile,
A promise
An oath
A vow
Rose mouth
Roses mouth
Buds, green and brown, and this won’t be the last time.
Puff as it’s promised.
This won’t be the last time.
Thought, not. Knowledge,
Pulsing through cerebral cavities, no shadow of a doubt.
Wires connect
Future remembered
Past prophesized.
Now is dead, now is dead,
But this won’t be the last time.
This can’t be the last time.
If it is, there is nothing much
To pulse for
Connect for
Breathe for
Kill for.
So knowledge flies, prevails, facts are etched in
Stone.
Stoned.
Puff as you pass and promise this won’t be the last time
With the heart
With the love.
Promise there will be another
Boy
Man
Someone
To promise on lips full of roses
Eyes full of emeralds
Hands full of fire,
And promises make with mumbling mouth, numb, open, parted
Quiet.
Because this can’t be the last time
And you won’t be the last one I fall for.
Falling...
Sensing...
Close your eyes.

*My first poem, like... ever. Let me know if you like or hate it*