The winged beast circle about.
More for presence.  
For pity.
There is no sport in prey that serves itself.
Yet draw blood regardless.
Taking small morsels of flesh with every pass.
And still no restistance.
As if dying slowly was a feat to cherish.
But isn't resilience a defining trait.
The Heros of every story.
Willingly go in search of new ways to destroy the body and mind.
Their deaths are held sacred.
Glory bestowed upon any who would courageously reduce to ash.
From the hellfires surging within a dragons innards.
At what point.
Does suicide.
Become heroism.
The tools are the same.
Fear.
Blades.
Resounding mental capacity.  
Resolve even.
the words and actions may differ every now and then.
But one fact remains.
Blood is blood.
One persons valiant deed.
May just as well be anothers.
Horror.

It doesn’t happen all at once
it happens slowly
like a flood
water rising cautiously
a quiet rebellion
spilling over enemy lines with a vengeance
minute by minute, you feel it
the gravitational pull on your body
moving you further and further apart
your mother says that you will
find your way back to him,
but you are not so sure
it does not happen all at once
it happens like the
continents drifting apart
a few centimeters per year
it happens so slowly
you can’t even see it
until it is too late
until the love waltzing in the ball
room of your chest goes quiet
and everyone stops dancing
he grabs your hand and asks you
to go someplace quiet
you don’t go with him
you stay silent
your heart is a still drum
he takes your pulse with his teeth
tells you he doesn’t
understand
how you could change your mind
so suddenly
it doesn’t happen all at once
remember that, even when he
tries to convince you that things
were fine the day before
tell him that the earth is moving
microscopic distances as you speak
that neither of you are in the same
place that you were
yesterday.

Let us whisper into the coming darkness
Full moon tonight spreading out consciousness
They say it can drive a sane man mad
I feel it's weighted pull against my thoughts
Pearlescent glow outlines the heated relief of your skin
As calloused fingertips ring giggles from the edges of mine
We play, you say, like children
Wrestling with pillows, our inhibitions
Until there is nothing left but heartbeats and feathers
Crowding around us as witnesses to completion
*I hope we will always be this close

Lay perfectly still
and wait until the bass makes your face vibrate.
Mindfolds on in perfect darkness
feel the music start to bring you solace.
Body goes numb and with it the mind
sleep paralysis sets in try not to fight it.

Hallucinations so vivid,
a reality so lucid.
Let it overwhelm you or run the risk of losing it.
Get lost in a dream of your own design
carefully constructed behind your eyes.
Its a tall task if you want to build your own city,
Or feel the emptiness of space and experience infinity.

My words are but a shooting star
To be seen in all its glory
But as shooting stars fade in an instant
So do my words to be read once
Then fade into obscurity

Loveless,
Love-letters,
That's what I'll send you,
That's what you'll send me.

Endless;
Dead end streets,
That's where I'll send you,
That's where you'll meet me.

Sleepless,
Insomniatic coffee-water drips until
It will dry up in the morning,
When the sun hits.

When the sun hits,
They will no place to hide away,
No lachrymose place to run to,
When the sun hits.

-Jamie F. Nugent

Can’t relax in a forest of nightmares
with blankets of silence and
pillows folded neatly in the darkness
while down feather delusions suffer
anxiety in nightfall lulls –
Where the hell is the dawn
when you need it