He walks on gilded splinters,
Much the same as devils dance
Bangs his head to metal bands
And warps his circumstance.
With heavy hands, he prays,
To dying days like setting suns
Making mischief with his words
While slyly tying wagging tongues.

Those days of wine and roses
Were at best, a state of mind
Begging bread for reasons,
Broken hearts to leave behind.
She asked him for an autograph,
An epitaph, and then, a date…
Nine Inch tickets torn in half,
A kiss goodnight that came too late.

But now his angels hide inside
The shadows of the night…
He feels as if they follow,
Much like moths are drawn to light.
And would you know your demons
If they met you on the path?
Take advice from strangers,
Teach them how you skin your cats.

The days unwind like Tesla coils,
And nights constrict in pain,
You miss the child you used to be…
The memory of rain.
A monetary lapse you thought
Was love and nothing more…
Became a snare of sorts to turn
Your ceilings into floors.

When we were young, in love, insane,
We left the world behind…
We hid within our secret names,
And lived inside our minds.
Discovering by accident
That sex was not a sin…
Worshipping each other’s kiss,
Taste for hunger,
Tongues for skin.

And why’d I take you there?
It’s just a fleeting piece of youth…
A season of betrayal,
And a poor excuse for truth.
We often view the past as if
A lesson to be learned…
But retrospect’s a devil
Looking for someone to burn.

I don’t expect you’d understand,
But then again, you may…
Convictions often hinge upon
What we refuse to say.
Speaking like a prophet,
Giving free advice in verse…
Poems as benedictions,
Metaphors to veil a curse.

TM DiSarro
©2025 TM DiSarro / MindScapes Publishing
From: THE MEMORY OF RAIN