Chainsmoker Yellow

Buildings, grey, crumbling constructions
loom above me as I step slowly,
heavy head hanging,
the shadow of an old rainbow
burnt into the brick.
A sad Snow White,
paint cracked and faded,
stares down,
doubtless wishing that
she had that apple now.

Silhouettes rise up as I move
through narrow passageways,
then shatter and fall
so suddenly, it stuns.
I look to the adjacent apartments,
barely-standing, yellow,
as if paint was exchanged for
the stains of nicotine.
Can you go to the DIY store and ask
for a tin of ‘chainsmoker yellow’?

A glance at the balcony,
to where I first glimpsed you
as I stood under red-leafed trees,
which are now just blackened
pastiches of their former selves
as ten-year-olds inhale glue
from brown paper bags
alongside the ruined trunks
ruined wood, witnessing
the slow ruin of lives.

I never foresaw such change,
then again, I thought you invincible,
the two of us, as some sort of immortals,
almost laughable now, how foolish that was.
Taken in a flash, those many years ago,
time only serving to deepen the wound,
cleaving fresh lesions over scar tissue.
Someone asked me yesterday,
would you want to live forever?
I can think of nothing worse.

Rounding a grassy knoll,
the busking guitarists,
long-since gone.
I can still hear the music,
can remember the green.
Nobody is dancing now though,
fields filled with children playing,
picnicking, with laughing parents
now dry and barren
covered in headstones.

When did it change?
I used to feel like I could fly
when I visited this place;
vibrant, lively, alive.
Now it’s hard to keep from sinking.
Did the breaking of my own heart
also take the soul from my sanctuary?
I hear a rumble, getting louder,
perhaps Lucifer approaches.
Can he drag me any lower?

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