You pick me up with your fingers
A hungry, dominant stare lingers
Pulling my limbs apart
Your mouth reeks with 'Sweetheart.'

In this lifeless state of wonder
Glazed by societal views, dragging me under
Clasped tight with no escape
Wanting to scream, '****!'

People walk all about
Humming a soundless tune of self-doubt
The drinks keep coming
Steeped in endless fuming

Friends joke around
A truth sealed and bound
Hiding behind a deadpan
Sustaining the image of an American man

‘More!’, everyone shouts
Raising their cups forgetting their spouse
Sitting here with a straight face
Wanting to forget my workplace

In a drunken stupor
The glass wracks with guilt
Under pressure of a gaze
Willing for them to shatter

--People below carry on
The graying sky a signal  
To the viewer's thoughts,
thoughts about a perished soul

Room full of old confessions
Dreary with a taste of venom
Held in the palm of a sinner’s hand
Stuck out waiting for someone to eat off it

No one could take the weight,
The burden of being an iniquitous man
Before, his hands were occupied  
Holding two different hands in each  

One let go too soon
The other held on too tightly
And now they were both gone
Slipping out of these deceitful fingers

They tease and compel
Devouring into my ill eyes
Lurking beneath the wilting yellow
Murky black blends in with the night
She taunts in the lightness of the day

This bed dips a bit lower every day
In disturbed curiosity and jealousy
Goading a reaction of plea  
Staring in unadulterated penance  
Wellness improving with each interaction

Greedy to drink in the color
Eyes feast upon them
Dancing slyly in sync
Dripping in need and want
One waits to dance in my head

These chains are finally unlocked
Feet find purchase of the cold flat floor
Only exuberating the ugly drug
To tear the flesh of yellow off her skin
All the while, in a manic spree of glee

It keeps blinding me                                
  not the pain                                                      
    no­t the jealousy                                                  
      not the shame
        not the depression

                               It's the Love.

So bright it burns
No longer a fleeting feeling
Just a passionate sizzle
As it protests against my skin
Adding a different kind of hue
Described as feminine colors
Some men hate it so

Twinkling with a glare,
  not the face
    not the torso
      not the hands
        not the legs

                               It's the Eyes.

Dark as day swallowing the light
Greedy for more color
In wait, it becomes a game
It glares with determination
Reflecting its true desires
Blissfully unaware of another's intent
In hope it finds purchase of more value

Beating down with persistence,
  not the brain
    not the stomach
      not the lungs
        not the intestines

                             It's the Heart.

True inner beauty
is what captures the most
Relative to time and space
It may grow weary with years
Though it will never distinguish its heat
Pulsing vibrantly every single second
Divulging upon raw emotion and vision

I carry this speaker
hoping their voices will be heard
more precise and cleaner
booming loudly word for word
--deafening those nearby

Moving those emotionally
and
a bit rationally
sharing hearse and raw
opening the eyes
to those who never saw

I hope to share a different point of view
without the judgmental whips
that sting like a tattoo
only offering their own remarks and tips
none of it spits any true

For whoever is free
please,
vouch for my plea
this volume has a limit
only brave hearts outstretch it
--don't become a cynic

Mark these words well
for it's hard to be repeated
moreover, speak and tell
do not perceive this as conceited
or
all our lives are broaching a newfound hell

Every thing,
Every single one
Is repeated
No originality
In a world of fragility