How does this taste?
Can we sense the extract mixing upon our tongues. These words that please, or dissuade, or lie.
I can.
How you must be tired, a fatigue I've never known. To listen and believe!
Yet the let down.
Always a let down.
Will I be another?
Will there be a drop of blood larger than our resolve to traverse it, will I make you sick with my promises of sweet flowers, will you recoil in disgust by an unknown factor, will we make it past this first hit placed on our mingled tongues?
I hope not, I hope so, I'm confused, this is too new, all I do know is, all I want is you.

I am not a poet.
I am what I lack.
I am a scholar that doesn't read
Atleast the prose that you misinterpret.
I am not strong.
I am what I lack.
I put these daily burdens on my back
These ideas that break your bones.
I am a demon with no inclination,
Towards evil unless for myself.
I am what I lack.
These angelic guardians hold me close
While your demons tie you down.
I am apathetic
I am patient
I am death awaiting your final gesture
To the gods I am nothing
To man I am a riddle.
What am I?

urtext purge staccato,
you know what I'm saying.
automatic,
learned,
purchased;
below, suddenly cutting in;
call it a symptom of sample culture.

that sibilance is sickening,
no vultures.
deranged,
no victims though.
I hate it.
we all do.
I love that.
infamy, intimacy;
something came between us.

that is why I never unpack.
you should try to.

( )

The pile of wood chips stack like the
Tower of babel from this concrete plane
The furnace hungers, ever patient for
******* blood
dripping cuts
Ripped up cufflinks that share the table
Every **** night.
Before attempted sleepless dreams keep this distance bearable by proxy.
I see your face when I wake up.
I see your face when I sleep.
I pray the days spin down quickly till I can see your face in person.
Until then I'll feed this furnace.

Are these scratches on my hand from my cat or a knife, or from catching the edge of a brick caught in mid-flight?
Will I remember the blood that dripped off my fingers to gently caress the paper walls, or will I find my hand split open again to replace the pain?
Are these dumb questions? I've heard there were none but right now I might drown in this lack of ability to distinguish what's really hacking the sytem.