Deny it if you wish.
We all live for this.
It makes no difference;
Meaningful, meaningless.

To dissolve your walls,
To play with this trigger.
To let it go off,
Then return it to sender.

Call it a holy act.
Call it something sick.
It is still a fact:
You want it.

He tears petals off flowers with a limp wrist,
hoping one day he'll hope for something more than just another tryst.
But his hope, like his desire, is lethargic.

He wastes no pennies on a wish.

He's convinced a seed was sown long ago,
when he let a stray emotion get the better of him.
But he's never let the water touch the soil since,
for fear of what would grow.

He resists having to tend a garden born from a whim.

Just a snake wearing a farmer's skin.
Too distracted by his own hiss to hear the promise of kisses.
He pinches his pennies with off-green thumbs held close to his chest,
and he wastes none on wishes.

Yes, now that - this - is a mood.

You know, I just realized I've never asked you about you.

How do you spend your days?
What do you do?
What goes through your head when you hear something like this?
Does it put you in a similar mood?
Because I can't help but wonder if we'd get along well,
mellowing out to the same tunes.

Then I remember why I never ask.
Because these moments mean so much.
It's too much to lose.

It's as if everything that happens only matters if
you can somehow manage to incorporate it into this
Over-arching narrative
that's meant to be your life.

So that when, and if,
you're hard-pressed to explain it to someone,
you have these convenient bullet points to hit.

"So then that happened, and it was traumatic, so then I did this to deal with it,"

And the scary part is
when you stop caring to weave it all in together, when apathy sets in,
and the actions and events just stay random nonsense.

Just chaos.

And I know there are those who don't struggle with this.
Where everything that happens to them automatically gets justified into this narrative of who they are, and what this is, and they're surrounded by people to explain it all with.

But I am not one of those.

And I can only ever make sense of it after the fact.
Put it into context,
after time has passed.

And I can only ever do it alone.

I've gone mad in the empty
I've breathed in too much hope
I've collected one big memory
Bit it, chewed, and choked

When something dies within me
A slice of life maudlin
I'll spit out my misery
Bite, chew, choke again

I'll keep this up forever
It will be my effigy
The loss that keeps me together
Until it, too, is empty

Whatever is left of me,
if you can remember anything
I've ever said,
down any path I've ever
led you, or
wherever you've led me,
if you can see me,
I'm free now,
for this world that is
always taking.

There's no need to lie to me,
there's no need to comfort this
dying fool who
wasted his time, pining in his
prime for a
chance
he knew
would never come.
After all, this
misery was by
design, to save the one
I love.
It's over now, I'm giving up.

I don't want your
sympathy, your
thoughts or your
prayers.
I wish I could illustrate
what I've won from this dare.
How do you
describe something
that isn't
there?
I lean on the hope that
what's left of me,
you'll share.

I took
so
much
effort
bleeding out this
place,
I've
emptied every coffer,
every altar
defaced.
I
scraped
away
the pretty paint
looking for the
matter,
and there it was,
this emptiness, getting fatter.

Now I sink in,
once again,
to this bog
I've been
stuck in,
struggled in,
woke up in,
fell asleep in,
dreamed in,
broke free in,
feared in,
**** and ****** in,
got cleaned in,
once again,
it takes me under.

She squints, her eyes open
She musters the strength
She crawls to the kitchen
But not the full length
In minutes she’s dancing
So fluid, so free
And she’s such a comfort
And so dear to me

She’s the life of the party
Ask anyone here.
They’ve lined up tequila
And whiskey and beer.
Thankful but unfazed
By what they’ve been pourin’ her
As she’s warmly approaching
The chick in the corner

And she saves souls for real
Not like those ****** preachers
And she’s one who can teach
All the doctors and teachers
They hang on her words
And are better for knowing
This spark of existence
This cup overflowing

And I stand in wonder
At all she has touched
All she has given
She’ll say it’s not much
But waves propagate
With her as their source
She speaks, and the cosmos
Is changing its course

Some days she’s saddened
By her empathic knowing
Some days are like years;
Some fly and need slowing.
This past year’s been cutting
The claws of it rip
But she opens her eyes wide
Embracing the trip

And she senses things easily
Intuition - hot
She knows who she is
And she knows who she’s not
And her honor is worthy
Of Arthurian Lore
Her oaths aren’t made lightly
She’s is steadfast and sure

She’s seared into his folds
As his synapses tire
And he needs to subdue
And he’s dousing that fire
But she’s stuck in his head
Like a hook in a fish
And affecting his thoughts
And becoming his wish

He wouldn’t dare dream
Of breaking connection
With someone so dear;
So with each correction,
He’s learning to dance
The dance she intends
To never destroy
This deep bond as friends

Too bright to lose, too dim to win.
Life, give me something other than a ******* lemon.

Gathered all the hues, painted virtues and sin.
I'm not about to do all this ******* again.

Give me another clue, like who's an enemy, who's a friend.
Otherwise I'll keep pointing fingers in faces until they cave in.