Are you the Heaven’s gate keeper?
Is it your calling to terminate?
Have you walked an inch in my shoes?
Do you know my sorrow?
Do you know my blemishes and what developed them?

No

Yet, you judge
You say I am sinful
You say I am
a fool
dreadful
ungrateful

But

I am hopeful
Beautiful
Faithful

I don't need your flocking.

I just want to run my fingers through your hair
Lay my head on your chest
Feel your heartbeat pound
Speak softly of my care
And slowly
Slowly
Fall asleep
With you

Why do I crave
Your attention
This late at night
All I need
Is your breath
In mine
To stay alive

Your heart
my friend
is the purest thing
in my lifetime
I will ever see

It's the continual
opening of the
eyes that disappoints,
not that sleep brings peace,
but it's the momentary
reprieve from life's
clenched fist, and
it's ruthless apathy.

Life is a toss of
the coin,
a roll of the dice.
Often, it's snake eyes.
As a kid, I always
thought that everything
would be alright.
Now I see the
randomness of
it all.

I'm always trying to
get back to Eden.
Sometimes, the
dreamer in me
forgets the futility.
The banishment is
forever.

sunny day outside
streets full
of people seeking water
and cold beers

overcast day inside
the cold, irregular walls
of the basement
in the abandoned building
The clouds are alive
and very annoying

She slaps his forehead
with a sloppy hand
soaked in *****

“Ouch!” he screams

And she says, “I can’t stand
these *******
fruit flies. Why must
they follow everywhere we go?”

He turns around
on the wool blanket and
shoves away a few empty bottles
of cheap wine
and
drops his head onto
her naked lap. “Because, baby, we’re
putrid. You and I, we’re both
dead on the inside
and out. And the fruit flies
love the smell
and taste of our bodies. Especially
when they come
together and sweat a lot.”

His hand grabs at
her upper thigh
and the fingers
tap playfully along the
piano-key-like cut marks
that adorn it
from crotch to knee

She tries to squash another
fruit fly
on his back

fails

gives up

drifts into sobs
and cries

“Noo, don’t cry,” he whispers

“Darling,” she says through
sour tears that
get immediately assaulted by
the fruit flies, “are we
really dead?”

“Yeah,” he says after
two full minutes
of struggling to open his eyes.
“Dead to them all
who walk outside in the warm
sun and go to jobs
to feed families, and dead
to our own families. And
to God. We’re dead, alright.”

She wails and
moves her *****-soaked
hand before her face
to chase away
the fruit flies

achieves the opposite
effect

wails some more

looks around for
her favorite razor blade

doesn’t find it

wails some more

grabs a bottle and swings
it against the wall
behind her back
but not strong enough
to break
just drops it

And she wails some more
until
he grabs her hand and
holds it against his
face and
starts ******* on her fingers

It tastes not very
different from
the wine they drank
so he keeps *******
and tells her, “Don’t worry.”

“What?” she asks

“Don’t worry, I said. Even if
we’re dead, at least
we’re dead together. And it’s
a thousand billion times
better than
being alive and apart. We’re still
better off than those
walking outside in the warm sun.
Those fools stay together
till death does ‘em apart. Pathetic.
We’re staying together in
death itself, dear. Our love
is eternal!
We got each other
and our cool grave
and our thousands of flying children
here roaming about
and the sweet nectar of each
other’s bodies. What else
could one ask for in life
or in death?”

“Aw, you sweet talking
failure of a poet,
come and kiss me!”

He did

and not even the
***** or the
coughing of blood could
break their lips apart

and the
fruit flies
joined in

and outside people still
walked in
the warm sun
oblivious of what true love
looked like