What Comes After?
by Milo Blecker
oh to have escaped the stony bounds of this earth,
to have danced on the sun one to many times,
to have searched for the moloch in the broken clockwork and not found it –
i think this is best, this little world,
a little white world of everything i wanted but could never have.
when i left i wondered if you would cry,
and i realize that you probably mourned me intensely,
all the while being secretly thankful i was finally out of your hair.
if there is no heaven or hell –
and to me, though others may disagree, there is not –
i would like to know where i am.
i considered for the briefest moment i had been saved
and now lay in a bed somewhere with someone who didn't really care watching me,
but i dismissed that since there is no fog on earth, no theriacal panacea,
no sleeping draught that could do this.
this was my end, the end romanticized and celebrated in songs,
but perhaps those songs have a different perception than me or you.
like the japanese with their rituals for the failed samurai.
but to me, and you, we have a different look:
it was a bad thing, a terrible thing, and i'll be punished.
if i had been saved i would have been punished by society, ostracized –
you little – oh how could you, oh my child –
but as i look at you from behind my curtain,
screaming all the secrets i never told you,
and you can't hear me.
i don't regret it.
in fact, i think it was an escape,
cowardly, yes, but we cannot all be strong-faced to hide our turmoil,
some of us find another path.
do not follow in my footsteps, children who are young enough to hear my screams,
but remember that no one is a monolith.
we are all mad
in this world of stony, silken bonds that hold us down.
you may not be like the others,
but neither are they.
by Milo Blecker
oh to have escaped the stony bounds of this earth,
to have danced on the sun one to many times,
to have searched for the moloch in the broken clockwork and not found it –
i think this is best, this little world,
a little white world of everything i wanted but could never have.
when i left i wondered if you would cry,
and i realize that you probably mourned me intensely,
all the while being secretly thankful i was finally out of your hair.
if there is no heaven or hell –
and to me, though others may disagree, there is not –
i would like to know where i am.
i considered for the briefest moment i had been saved
and now lay in a bed somewhere with someone who didn't really care watching me,
but i dismissed that since there is no fog on earth, no theriacal panacea,
no sleeping draught that could do this.
this was my end, the end romanticized and celebrated in songs,
but perhaps those songs have a different perception than me or you.
like the japanese with their rituals for the failed samurai.
but to me, and you, we have a different look:
it was a bad thing, a terrible thing, and i'll be punished.
if i had been saved i would have been punished by society, ostracized –
you little – oh how could you, oh my child –
but as i look at you from behind my curtain,
screaming all the secrets i never told you,
and you can't hear me.
i don't regret it.
in fact, i think it was an escape,
cowardly, yes, but we cannot all be strong-faced to hide our turmoil,
some of us find another path.
do not follow in my footsteps, children who are young enough to hear my screams,
but remember that no one is a monolith.
we are all mad
in this world of stony, silken bonds that hold us down.
you may not be like the others,
but neither are they.