A kindling at bay, a linking uncertain. Even though the flame was not lit, it was not dead.

I see her face and try not to remember a thing on this devil's night. It feels as though I know her name and she's torturing me every last moment of silence.
God, know that I **** it all to  hell, it doesn't even feel real anymore. This fallen angel that continues to rain down on my dreams should no longer mean a thing to me.

I opened my mouth and it felt like my soul was speaking in vowels. And what came only ever sounded a little like Y-O-U.

Romance was a bullet to the temple, he may as well have been sentenced to death as he approached his gluttonous desire. He couldn't nearly last another day at this point, unquestionably desperate he gave in to the feeling.
Oh, the glory he felt as he held others in the palm of his hand.
The day he satisfied himself, he truly died, the day that not even god wanted to remember who he was.

The crystalline water, so clear and so calming. A wash so deeply needed, a cleaning of my sins and hardships. An ocean of wonders and ravishings, a vagabond at last had found his dear home.

A lifelong amount of moments to a matter of seconds in my head, a few drops of liquid in my brain that could have erased all of the miserable feelings in my uneasy gut.

You used to always roll my sleeves up for me, but now my sweaters are in the closet and they're catching dust.
And now winter is coming, but I would have worn them for you in the summer.

You are my Dante, you are my Vergil, you are my Beatrice, you are my devil. You are the spineless and endless tortured souls of men and woman who form horizons that never seem to end. You are the hung bodies in the trees of death, you are Cleopatra and Antony. In that never ending tornado of lust, cursed to spin and spin, conjoined in cursed love. You are the undeserving unborn who are tortured before they've ever even breathed dear life.

And I, I am only another accursed undead.

I am beside myself in bed.

I'm awake when I must sleep. I do not want to dream of you any longer,
I want to be there.

I'm starving though I must eat. I hunger for your breath,
I want to be there.

I'm alive though I want to die. I'm dying to get ahold of you, I want to be there beside you.

Even through the midnight insomnia, drunken, drugged up death binges, I still remember your face. Don't think I'm lying, I still remember the taste of the salt in your tears. Soaking up your hopes and fears, what had I become.

Your death.
Your wake up call.
Your very last piece of failure.

Goodbye.

And as he sat alone in his room, he felt bitter remorse. Who is it that he hates? Himself, or God?
Maybe he'll die someday and remember what it felt like to be human, but until that day comes, he's nothing but a parasite.

From time to time I happen across the things you say, and they make me giggle, they make me blush. Your humor gets me going and later leaves me numb and nauseous, like a slow rising roller coaster ride.
Knowing that none of it is for me brings me down when I'm staying up, and all I can hope for is that it ends someday.

Destruction to something as pure as love will surely lead to a gruesome demise.
Whether it be the demise of your inner self or outer self is your choice.
Although, you could always go with no choice.

I remember you saying,"You're a good person".

Now the words you last spoke to me ring in my ears.
I deserved it, but does that mean I don't deserve to be happy
now?
Now that we're stangers, I wonder,"Did you ever really know me enough? Did I ever know myself enough?"

His soul was consumed by her. The very sun that once had shined so incandescently, had darkened. Anguish shriveled him into a freeze, what was he doing with the time he had left?

I held her in my arms tightly,
so tightly I was sure she could feel the shivers going down my own spine.
     No harm would ever come to her while she was in my grasp, but **** me if ever I held her too tightly, so tightly  I myself were to hurt her.

A day out of the past are the days that seem like a dream. Please remember that things are unreal, but are also very very real.

Flashing nightlights outside the window, taps and bangs to keep her remembering throughout the night what she had sown.
Crashes that struck to the beat of her tired blinking eyelids.
Ground that for a moment was hotter than the sun, the thought of it made her feel alone. No warm touch to comfort her cold skin.
This storm would never end, would it?

How strange, a man who could choose to love, but hated instead. Himself most of all. What a pity it was, but that's not what he wanted, right?
He wanted their forgiveness, not their pity. Forgiveness for not being enough. But they thought they saw right through him, they know his ways. And he would agree.
   He's a writer after all, he would say. It's in his nature to dislike himself to the point of ignorance. But when does an act become nature? When does this character he has created become apart of who he is? Or was it that way all along?

Feeling like the **** of the Earth, at the bottom of the gutters. Only me and these tireless feelings of regret and sadness. Only me and my death.
Let's only hope for this so called resurrection, otherwise this is the end of me.

I called you out on your *******, and you called me out on mine. And now I think I know what Bukowski once knew.

It's all *******.

But I only want to live, and I only want you to live. I only want to live in you and all of your *******.

Be like tides, adrift. Watching as the smiling moon rises, and as the sun in all it's glory weeps. For love without melancholy is nothing more than a joker's folly. Feel the highs and the lows that come and go, and know that you are not alone.

I am no more than the ground beneath you, I hold the life of everybody so dearly in my roots. You are fire, and you burn me of those roots with every step you take. I am no longer a safe place for them to grow. I am only salted ground beneath your marching feet.

Another night he slept alone in his room. Wondering what his dreams would bring, and what his nightmares would prove.

  How his dreams brought him nightmares, and his nightmares proved he had dreams.

A frolicking being, with no rules or distortion. A god of their own playpen, but regardless, mortal. But does an immortal being surpass a mortal in any other sense than time? Who’s to say.

Maybe I can understand how you felt going back to that place now. That place that caused you such great pain even being near, so much that you wished all of the emptiness that it caused in your heart could be used as mileage, that way you would never have to stop.

Now that I'm surrounded by this shroud, this storm. I want to put thousands of miles inbetween, but I feel as though no matter where I ran to in this world, no one can ever escape their past.

You can live an entire life with someone in your dreams, and they would never know.
The first kiss you shared, and the last words you spoke to them before the waking dream loses them, neuron to neuron, cell by cell.
Then I thought,
you could do so awake as well.

She calls and tells me she's discovered herself. She can no longer see me as apart of her future, this self she discovered, this self I always loved in every form, can no longer love me.

My edges were always rough, filled with mistakes and awkward shades. But I changed, I broke every bone in my body, stretched within an inch of my life, as I was sculpted by her.
And now I've turned into an abandoned art piece. Incomplete. Not even worth being a memento.

*So just throw me away.

They say that time heals all wounds, but where do I sell my time to heal my soul?

He stood there and wondered, could this really be it. The hell he so long feared. He was content as he gazed at the planes of his own torture, he laughed. As regardless of everything the devil itself had taken so much time on, it did not matter. He would become a fiend, and someday his tortured soul would reside nowhere. Therefore, his hell would become his long awaited heaven.

People change, and time goes on. We run like wild horses, racing to a finish line that only means death, but the race goes on long after we reach it.
The world continues to spin, the plains will breathe and grow, and the wind will whistle for as long as long you start and end.

Our only reward is the race itself, and the winner is the one who believes they have won.
And life will go on.

Oh, what I wouldn't give, to love you, with innocence in my eyes.

My love, could you be the ignorant glint in my eyes? I want to forget all the sinful things I've seen.

Blind me, my sun, strip the sight from me that I cannot forsake you, that you can trust me wholly and truly.

A road without road signs and faded paint, with ways that lead to every wrong direction. And we drove on that deep black ice throughout the night.
A dance that was no fun, and left a feeling of dissatisfaction, filled of bitter patterns. And god, it left us dying for water.
A recorder, with eyes that were too close together, and a mouth that would only open for a kiss.
The tape I played choked you up, and you died alongside me.
I had become what I never wanted to be.

The woman in white visits me at night,
She knows when I'm alone, without you by my side.
She knows when I cry, and when I sleep. She knows that I make you weep.
She haunts me through the night, the bed will soon no longer smell of you.
Only me, and the woman in white.

A heat that keeps the chest warm, reminds of the days that hurt the most. They leave a feeling of distaste, but a curious cat walk trail has you lost in it all. A care in a world of apathy, the holiest of feelings in an unholy being. You look back on that trail, realizing that the warmth brought the coldest and most stagnant of days, you are frozen in time.

As I lay surrounded by only you, I continue to ask myself,"do I not have the right to say I love you?".

I hope that someday my life will be filled with mistakes, mistakes that I had learned from, mistakes that I would not come to regret. I hope that someday I will be seen as someone who made a mistake and moved on, not as someone who had regrets and got left behind.

I feel the presence of you through the pain in my teeth, as I sing along to the song I used to skip just for you. It always makes me think of you even though you never wanted to listen to it. The sadness you felt when it would come on must have been left behind with me little by little each time I let it go by without you knowing. You left some sort of residue on your footprint, a brand. And someday when god looks upon my soul, he'll see it still, branded by the giant, for the silver and gold I once stole.

I see and I love, but I close my eyes and I picture you.
It's folded, lost color, and burnt beyond recognition.
Each night I leave it on your doorstep.
And each day, I love.

But I always close my eyes again.

Truth behold, truth behold. Two lover's souls were left afloat.
Truth be told, truth be told. The creek had never been as cold. Time froze, a portrait of pause.
And as the lovers dried themselves, they wondered when a moment would ever leave as beautifully again.

Everything that we ever saw together, every time I made you laugh or you made me laugh, every feeling and memory we ever shared and made, has been reduced to just two strangers with dust in their blood.

We are our own scapegoats, fate is simply numbers and empty space. Love is a chemical, heartbreak is excess chemicals. The will to live, is only bullheaded stubbornness.

And it just so happens that the things that we fear are also the things that we love, and people are caused more pain by the things closest to them. I am the one that she loved, and I am the one that she hates.

There I was becoming apart of a time unknown to me, with a woman I had barely met. "I'm going to tell you a story.", she said.
"This sky you see above you was once a bright romantic vision to gander upon. I used to ponder  each night of all the lessons that could be taken from such a vast wondrous space,  but over time it darkened, you couldn't even tell the night from day. Only empty space was left. Yet, despite this , it's mystifying spell was only strengthened and my curiosity was brighter than ever before."
She spoke of the irrefutable wisdom each had to lend, how neither light nor dark were more significant than the other because they were indifferent.

That black sky that once shined incandescently became the first wonder of my world. My god, what a cold sight it was.

Giving me the strangest dreams at night, as I look for her in a place where she could be anywhere in the universe. I'll always be looking, through every dream and every nightmare. Driven by nothing more then gears and bolts, a cold and calculating hunk of metal. **I've become a machine, and I've been designed a failure.