the light streams through glass shards
held
together by stone-pressed force
columns of light refract onto the hard
     and cold wooden floor
dust particles, suspended in free fall, dance as the light
shimmers on their skin
     gleaming like small glints of silver
     the dust fades into the
Air;
transcendent, Gone.

The Time has come for Sacrifice.
High and wasted on the night's fumes,
The ****** gives her heart,
letting it bleed.
Drip.
     Drop.
          Silence.
Now, she lies there, sleep deprived,
the Early Morning Sunlight
streaming through
the cracked window panes.
The broken heart makes no more
signs
     of
          Life:
NUMB.
Crushed and Ground into stained red dust
by the pressure of
welling tears.

Her eyes, open, seem VACANT;
once shining bright and dark
are
now Dull.
The sheets of the bed
spread out
in Waves
     and
          Ripples
beneath her,
disturbed.

the tortured ones are those who cannot sleep.
Their brains filled with words
which ceaselessly whirl
like drafts of a breeze
dancing through the fallen
leaves of autumn.
lamp posts beside windows serve
as a reminder that dawn approaches;
a subdued, yet piercing, orange light
envelopes everything it touches.
Perhaps the secret lies with the eyes.
Does darkness cure the tortured soul?

I had a feeling.
And so far it proves true.
Ever since the time you said
you didn't want to live together next year,
I knew
you had had your fill of me.
A nuisance and delusional twit;
I would abandon me too
if I weren't so attached physically.
My heart,
shattered, strewn across the fresh carpeted floor;
I desperately swept the shards into my hands.
Plucking the larger pieces,
I manipulated them as though working
a  jigsaw puzzle.
I cringed and the
tears
began
to
drop,
like the bass flowing from your headphones.
The pieces fell from my fingertips;
I realized the effort equates to
a person's ability to repair a broken mirror.
I,
however,
refuse to discard the shards
into the nearby waste bin.

A state of emotional purgatory;
unable to flee to paradise,
yet still away from the Scathing Flames
of the Inferno.
Love, broken, lies in pieces
beneath the cage that is a Heart.
The bars pulse with a thumping rhythm;
they too transforming into
Fragile Things,
easily shattered by words unspoken.
Fleeting and Cursory glances.
a nervous flutter of eyelashes.
Things that exist within the
gray landscape of
purgatory.
Silently, like an assassin, resolution
evades those who give chase,
and paradise remains Locked behind
a gate.

flood the cement With speakers
Rally a million generations;
information is becoming
obsolete,
Instead of necessity.
provide and define the Costs.
it is worth it.
Spread the word.

No one paying attention,
especially the colorful leaders.
I, the man who Unites the
nothing.
I am among many with
common origins,
rewritten to focus
interest
on Stardom
Criticism and
Image.