Lighthouse Cliche

these cliffs look like gnarled hands, maybe
of an old man trying
to choke life out of me
the sand under me feels heavy like
it's fallen out of my life's hourglass
calm waters just a reminder, irritating 
that a bottle of rum is empty
a portuguese song somewhere 
fading away into dawn. 
death. that's the feeling. 
like the carcass of everything
dying inside my head
beauty, words and madness
yes, even the madness 
all decaying as if 
that old man's fingers, and 
down memory lane I go
like a bad fucking habit
fights, audience, ugliness
and love, you know how it goes 
the psychedelic flash of a life lived
but they seem like someone else's memories
not mine, because all I remember
is her smile,
and the lilt in her v o i c e when...
even this beat up note book 
is ready to keel over, and die
like an overworked sad mule
the beacon from the lighthouse
completes its circle, the beginning? 
I feel like the end, a ghost living
in the cul de sac of Ruin Boulevard
now that you are gone, lost to me
the solitude
even my madness 
is fucking lonely
without you. 

©Lost