Death of a Nihilist [poetry]

19. sitzmark

the dark summer night buzzed,

forever blue,

like the shuttered dark eyes

in front of you.

his kind smile

carried a certain hue of rue.

he puzzled you,

for his words were wry

and none rang true,

yet you didn't want tonight

to be passing through,

drifting away like your twenty-two.

perhaps he was the ocean moons,

washing up and down

these colourless dunes.

perhaps he was the june afternoons,

crooning soft and loud

across these lagoons.

he was your very own

daydreamed deja vu,

only meant for views.

he was a your very own

false breakthrough,

constructed from flimsy fescue and yew.

though you couldn't pursue

lest your effort so far

gone askew and force you to

start anew.

you couldn't bear to beshrew

your brand-new muse.

it was useless

you knew, deep down

he was another rune

wherein whatever you do

would only make him withdraw

further and further away from you.

oh, what a catch-22

you've got within you.

your unsent billet-doux and

uncarved statues might grew,

but you could never laid a hand

onto his pretty skin and tissues.

⸻

sitzmark: a sunken area in the snow marking a backward fall of a skier

prompt: night out