I faked everything
and for once I felt something,

with every
dead arm beneath you
hair in between my lips
the gentle squeezes
your eyebrows turning angry
the kisses
the connection
with every ****** feeling

I finally actually felt something

and for that to go,
it just feels like
I felt something to make me realise
I never was anything

                                            I was nothing
                                              I'm nothing

The strange occurrence of love,
is one to not indulge,
in a vision with no light,
the black is a loving home,
with broken souls that become a gentle touch,
what once was blue from blurs of youth,
is grey with undignified truth,
do I ditch the spoken or the seen,
the felt or the unreality,
the body or the soul,
the heart or my cold bones,
echoes of conscious and the unwilled,
fireflies and deaths of stillness,
a mix of nothing and the scrape of something,
the lack of knowledge about my understanding,
mix of thoughts and lack of action,
seems my mind has turned into
a poisoned slushi of carnage
and
dying passion.

He always wanted to own and steal,
her very existence that she wields,
so one day he reached into her chest,
blood was spilling and it became a mess,
he finally grasped what he thought,
was her beating tool instead though...
came out a pile of coal.

And with surprise he shrieked,
"what the ****, where the hell is your heart?"
she glanced at him calmly,
responded wisely,

"I don't know what that is,
but I think I lost it to my father,
when I was still a kid"

For he with the blonde curls,
Who set you from stone to glass,
For he with greyness and age,
Who set you from virtue to lust,
And for the fathers who warned,
Who set you in a statue of shame,
With his constant looks of disbelieving.

For she with the stars of freckles,
Who set you from glass to shards,
For she with the condensation of coldness,
Who set you on route to loneliness,
And for the mothers who neglected,
Who set you with no comfort,
With no help after the males visited.

For the creaks of floorboards,
Threatening unholy arrival,
For the thousands of bed squeaks,
Helping by gifting distraction,
For the hotel clerks gentle knowing smiles,
For the cheeks I can force upwards,
For the sacred of tears that disappeared with new numbness,
For the child within me who had such urgency to grow up,
And for me...for me.