Fluid screams flowing
streams of limpid tears spurting
molten ire melting

I watch her.

I watch her,
as the night drapes over her window,
as the stars tangle in her hair,

I watch her,
as the chiseled imperfection
of the moon stirs her inky musings,

I watch her ,
in the uncertain glow of the dying candle,
in the torrent of tattered thoughts,

I watch her,
watching me through the silver-smeared glass,
through the pits of colourless brown,


                                      I watch her as                           
                                   ­            she slowly traces the silence,
                                                        ­           silencing the traces of him.

and we
won't just
  survive
    but we'll
      thrive till
        we're five
           and make
              peace with
                 our hearts
                     till we're
                         feeling
                              alive
                                   and my
                                        puppy-
                                               eyed
                                                     lover
                                                            will talk
                                                                   to the
                                                                          sky and
                                                                               we'll drift
                                                                                      through the
                                                                                              night till
                                                                                                      we're free

The gayness in me was too much for them
to bare, too much for them to come to terms
with and see me from the inside rather than
the outside, too much for them to be around me
out of fear that others would judge them
the same way.  I saw it all in the fading grey
skies, how they tossed me aside, how they
mocked my gay pride, feeling like I could
shout and cry, stare at the aching tears as they
slid down my swollen cheeks onto my drained
lips.  I was suffering from a sprained ankle,
the overwhelming aching equations and mazes
splitting my heart at the root as my muscles
failed in unfathomable stages.  I was losing
the crystal-clear pages of my cells, my nation
stuttering, shuddering, crumbling with meaningless
detail.  I thought I could be loved even if I was
different, even if I was a flower child blossoming
into a fabulous star, but they proved to me that
this gay world I was existing in was a mere mountain
of undiscovered truths with no room to grow.  
And as I tried to confront the situation in
the most realistic way possible, I found
myself falling in smoky flames where the thick
powdery ashes covered my charred and shrunken skin.