The aftershocks
Ripple rash anger consuming my frame.

****** duels with metal swords of rage
That slice innocence in half.

Irrational self-destruction,
Showing signs of weak malfunction.
Boiling blood gurgling through my veins.

How do I dare let such a horror rule my weak blackened hands?

Snarling fangs,
Foaming rabid with distain, puncture my brain.
Ripping pride and ego to bloodied shreds.

Failure, weakness, defeat,
Their sharp clawed feet incessantly transfix me.  

Agonizing.
Inflicting purposeful pain,
The need to destroy shall grind me to a pulp.

Evil is ruling a twisted game.
Queen of Hearts.  
King of Spades.

Gnawing at my bones, my tendons snap.
Eyes of fire that could torch one’s soul, encase a beastly rage.
I roar,
Thrashing and afraid.

There’s a noose around our necks to drive out feeling,
To **** the sweetest instincts planted deep within our souls.
It’s too hard to feel, it hurts too much, so **** it –
Replacing it with lust so that we think we are alive
But we have lost it.

I think therefore I am?  So said that Greek man.
Someone could likewise reason that “I feel, therefore I am”
It’s a possible conjecture but the suffering incurred
Is overboard , impossible, I cannot cope with that.
I’ll take the substitute.

This lust gives me to think I’m feeling something,
Be it money lust, drink, drugs, or sexuality or things.
Somehow, though my ego escalates, I’m feeling grand,
But my relationships are failing, flawed, I cannot understand –
I’ll take the substitute.

I’m at the bottom of the pit.  I’m on the outer.  
The substitute has got me.  I’m in isolated rink.
It’s living hell.  My friends are gone, and everything is bad.
I cannot cope with this.  I need some love. There’s none around.
I’ll take the substitute.

I’ll take the substitute.

I’ll take the substitute.

I’ll take the substitute.

This is hell.

God, where are You?

“I’m right here.”

“I took the substitute.”

"I know."

"It's finished me."

"I know."

"Help me."

“Will you take Me now?”

“I sure don’t want the substitute any more.”

“Will you take Me now?”

“Yes.”

“You believe Me now?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe that I love you?”

“Yes”

“Do you understand, I did the substitution for you?”

“On the Cross?”

“That’s it.”

“I believe you.”

“Do you trust Me in all respects?”

“It’s either You or the other substitute?”

“It’s either Me or the other substitute.”

“I’d rather trust You.”

“Come then.  I love you.  
Walk with Me and I’ll restore your deeply broken heart.
You are My child. Draw ever closer, never to depart.
Revive yourself in Me.  My Words will give you back your Life.
I’m your blood brother, at your back when problem scenes are rife.
My Spirit, Truth, empowers you in strife.”

I've been tapping my pen on my spiral
trying to put words to emotion --
trying to explain a sensation so serene.
I wanted to tell you, in clever woven words
that when you touch my waist, my heart stops
that I'm not ticklish, I just want you to hold me
that your cold green eyes make me feel so warm.
What I'm trying to say -- what I want to tell you is
that I'll never be able to be sad with you around --
you wouldn't let me;
that I can't think straight with you near
and that's why I practice talking in my room.
I want to be able to tell you these things
in sophisticated metaphors and similes,
but the only thing that comes to mind
is you.

I do not know your tongue
Nor have the time to learn it now.

I will test the depths of
your vindictive vicious vessel.

In the dark places
That hide in the hearts of such men
and the sliding doors of lust
and the vengeance that scars
upon thy face.

You will be forgotten
Like a distant memory
that leaves a bitter taste
and a pungent trail
leading to your lonely doom
in the haunted chasms of your mind
and frozen heart of any room
you enter.

How I mourned for you
The dry tears evaporate
and the delicate flower
that could have so easily bloomed
replaced by prickly thorns
now wrapped in the futures
of your twisted gloom.