To build castles of, the dreams sure
are bloody, sandy, abrasive too
Yet once the madness of so called love takes over, all things are building materials
For love is materialistic, not rustic, caustic, deterministic, a shade of pointlessness, awkwardness too
I build my castle upon the tall rocks, a few steps away from the tide
I pretend to be smarter, but we all know how smart a lover really is, I also sometimes laugh, at myself, at my world, at my thoughts, at my justification, at my juxtaposition, angst, anxiety, madness, and paradoxes thereof
To build it a taller one commands the heart, so full of this ruthless joke of what one calls loving, and what else does it exist as
It is a fair word, with enough backing in books, poems, poets that have gone awry, in turbid clarity, I build it bigger, for you, I am good at failing, I do bigger
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