I’m stumbling through a black abyss,

Surrounded by this nothingness,

Mirroring the emptiness,

inside my soul.



Along the way I find a lake,

A lake upon the path I take,

And near the lake there lies a sign,

Just before the water’s line.



And this is what the sign does say

,The sign I find upon my way:

“Here lies the gateway to the soul,

So look within if that’s your goal.”



So I kneel within this black abyss,

And gaze upon the lake’s surface,

My reflection meets my eyes,

A face I do not recognize.



And as I look upon this face,

Despising she who took my place,

I feel my anger over flow,

And finally I let it go.



“You ignorant and petty fool!

You errant-minded, useless tool!

Oh look at you, what you’ve become!

Don’t you see how far you’ve fallen from?”



My reflection does not answer me,

Just stares back out so emptily,

A sight that draws forth unshed tears,

And rekindles all my greatest fears.



“What happened to the face I knew?

What happened to the real you?

You are everything you once opposed!

You are a fraud! And everyone knows.”



My reflection simply stares at me,

It does not move, nor answer me,

Nor does it return my shout,

It does nothing, just stares back out.



“You are the reason for the emptiness!

You are the reason for this black abyss!

For everything that’s trapped me here!

You are the face behind my fear!”



Then looking down upon this lake,

This lake upon the path I take,

I realize it is no lake at all,

Only a mirror upon the wall.

Her palms are calloused, stubbed fingers gripping the rim of her lavender skirt with an intrinsic meaning.
The perspiration forming a battalion beneath her hairless armpits does not retract for the thunderous cry of a man preaching on his extra-terrestrial pedestal.
Baby boys seek the comfort of their mother's womb as they splay their partially formed fingers, twitching nervously.
Baby girls kick out.
The grubby sweetheart inside the technological box filters the realistic surrealism into a myriad of dented pennies, clutching her de-stuffed, de-figured, de-monized bear in one filthy hand.
The other placed on the ever-increasing, ever-decreasing bump, where baby boy and girl wait.

She's too young for this, and you know it.

Make it hard to fall asleep because when I close my eyes
I remember
That night last week.
I remember it like it was yesterday.
I remember the way you looked at me.
I remember the way you said my name.
I can still feel the hot prickles of your skin against mine.
I remember the taste of your kiss upon my...
              Lips
                  
                   Neck

                          Hips....

It wasn't supposed to mean anything...

    **So why do I suddenly still care so much