the man you thought
you wanted is on the ground
and nearly dead

with thoughts of
empty promises still
racing through his head

his time was running
down in numbers to
a timely end

crawling over to the
gutter he'd sing the
name of long lost friends

the echo would rain
reality on the dreamland
he was in

set fire to the statue
of you he erected
in passionate sin

you asked me here
to let me bleed and
writhe upon the floor

I've since forgotten
all those petty things
I loved before

you implore me to
substitute the cold
air in the room

that now lies empty
of memory & it is
now set in with gloom

you need somewhere
to stow away your
sickness and grace

you want to feel like
the muse, flower
petals on your face

a work of art that must
be exposed in some
dangerous place

to juxtapose
all of those whom
love will not embrace

I know too well the
doom and gloom
conspiring with the moon

I feel fate now frowning
and the feeling
start to loom

& I'll never understand
the way you manage
to twist that knife

I'll bleed to death with
a sense of warmth deep
somewhere inside

I'll relieve that breath
of relief from the
torment in my mind

I'll be the awful thing
your soul needs
at this point in time

it's machine-like
you know? maybe
even just a
machine this life thing

unconcerned, always
working churning out
unfavorable outcomes
for those scenarios

the one's out in the
darkness, faint and
disfigured, covered
in mist

the mist is artificial
too, it's all incredibly
artificial and the
truth is that I don't

really know what
to do next, knowing
it's all products
do I blindly consume?

or do I slowly starve
searching for the
antithesis of the
cold machine?

the apparatus of flesh,
unpredictable
undefined and
entirely unreasonable

must exist to give
weight to these things
measured out
in average hate

I will keep sailing the
tide and turmoil
until I hit the edge
of the world

or until I make the
water the final
resting place of
this bitter body

well then who is really fake?
does anyone have to be fake?
if reality is but an illusion
then "fake" is as fake as fake

I want you like one
who only sees sun
through one window
well known in
the darkness alone

I yearn for you like
grass for morning dew
the stars for the moon
with the rising tide and
nighttime gloom

your perfume drives me
mad, it drives me forward
towards the steep cliff
of self-destruction
but there are such pretty
flowers down there
among the rocks

the way you talk makes
me feel alone, my desires
still unknown to you
but my pain & time
are but sorry gifts
distractions from my
short comings

how do you feel knowing
I suffer for you?

how would you react to
knowing I die a little
when you smile?
the world around gets
drained of grandeur
with your beauty
so imposed and
thrilling to endure

your scent makes me
me mad with want,
it's peppered with
my own lonelines

far more intense than a need
I want that perilous leap, though
I am not a man but
mistakes laid in heaps
at your feet

allow me home,
that fleeting feeling of it

shelter from the storm
that rages as time
wears thin the sin
now left drably within

I will find your center,
with it my own,
in flesh & bone
I shall crumble

I am humbled

I am what you see
now before you

coming of age
is the phrase
that reads on the stone slab
above the lonely grave plot
that sits silently with
the wide-eyed ambition
you laid to rest,
limb by limb

it didn't go down easy
it never does

Gravity works in reverse,
while you choke the voice
in your heart,
indefinitely

growing up is the force
that carries down to dirt
the pure desire you harbored
the wishes you whispered

time passes through you
greedily carrying off
speckles of soul,
those precious crystals,
one and only fragmented
flames

nurtured regret will silently snicker

as nature inevitably
throws flowers upon the grave

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.