i was young on that warm summer night.

he was fifteen and blazing with independence.

we sat on the patio chair just close enough for me to tremble.

he showed me the stars through the telescope.

little did he know he was the brightest one to me.

i was an asteroid waiting for the moment I could launch into his world just long enough to shift his disposition.

I know that as I speak he is standing where I want to be.
He's in his shower. In the heat. In the water where he drowns the pain.

Right where I left him. In the middle of pain.

But little does he know that if he would not have given me the chance to escape I would have never stepped away.

I would be there. In the heat where I want to be.

Watching drops of water as if they were me, roll off of his lips, down his hips, and escaping down the drain into the abyss.

It screams so vibrantly when convenient.

Then sends a signal through silk smiles that slowly simmer on tightly drawn lips.

The lips explode in an angry over boil of sour soot engrossed sin.

Heated thoughts point their haughty fingers in heatwave directions
striking the nearest and seemingly weakest iced block- melting it down to a puddle of pitiful pain.

Defenseless the droplets condense quickly in self-defense, running in every direction.

Slowly
   sliding
     downward
       into
         their
           death ...

Contentment is not an option for me
It's unimportant unimpressed
Peace is inadequate. Invalid even.
My strength Caries me to safety in small tasks.
In crumbling rafts, I fall and drift slowly but surely deeper and deeper.

Pure Success is not an option for me.
I fear I'll strive my whole life to achieve only an empty hopeless wanting
Religion is unprecedented in me.
No hope to be found as my soul wallows in dark soft misery.

All the while I look up to try and see the light.
I've yelled, "oh God show yourself please! For my sake!" But isn't that the point you aren't saved for you're own selfishness.
So, therefore, how can I ever be forgiven?  If I'll never understand his love again what hope is in my world.

My final thought brings me to moan these final lonesome heart-wrenching words. These are...

That Love is not an option for me. My soul can no longer find true love for people. I do not admire genuine character anymore. I do not sketch the image of warm sunken laughter on another's face into my mind. I do not memorize the sound of children squealing in excitement. Death no longer pains me. We are rather mutual friends.  I would rather scoff with the lowly for my one self-righteousness.  Greed and pride eat at my bones like wolves gnawing on a carcass in pity for themselves. I do not know commitment to another's heart and I do not understand how I ever will.  I feel unloveable. Untouchable. I am scared to be touched by someone's smooth loving fingers because I fear they will be hurt by my flaws.

Love. What is love? Will love ever be an option for me?

And we keep waiting,

waiting for our lives to begin,

when in fact they have already begun