we, all of us, are born to die
some just get to tell a better story before they do.
the end is never dignified, never clean
we cry, we bleed, we scream, we beg
we lay, silently, beside our loved ones, all praying we'll open our eyes just one more time
just one more time.
one can only hope there's more beyond it
something else, something different
a new life, a continuation, a god to smile and say you're here
you made it, I'm so proud of you
even a nonbeliever can hope
someday
that you can find the end you're meant
that you're not forced to be martyred to meet someone waiting for you at the far end of it all

I want to be spring
I want to be soft buds on tree branches, the low murmur of melting snow, the fresh blue of newly clear skies
I want to be soft, brisk wind whipping across forests and plains, animals moving as one from darkness to the world again, pollen in the air
but I'm not
I'm winter
cold, unforgiving, ice and metal and skin, the heavy blanketing of deaf snow over miles of the world
frozen branches snapping in silent nights and the retreat of all living things deeper into their homes
winter with it's dangers, it's unknown, a set of footprints in the snow leading deep into the woods and never coming out
I want to be warm and soft and new, alive again every year
but I'm not

my bones are quartz
my heart a horse
my eyes are dew
I'm nothing but a compilation
or emulation
of things I see in you

we'll never be clean again
the angels in their spotless robes, glaring down untouched
the first hand put on our skin was filth forever
lick their lips and **** their teeth, rosaries and morals clutched
we'll never be clean again
no soap washes away the stain of men, having a body, the ultimate sin
never asked for, but punished anyway
nothing cleans away the memories twisting behind your eyes, but forget or they win
we'll never be clean again.
never speak of or think of it.
never be like them.
prayers writ and wrists slit,
and wonder where from it stems

I am the god of mortality and cold
I am silent and ancient, or, I was
I have died so many times, now it is all I can think of
I have forgotten the wrong I committed that cursed me to mortality
but it must have been very wrong indeed
I can only hope one day, or lifetime, my penance will be complete
and pray to be released from this formless curse
mortality clouds me, my greatest fear and my only chance for relief
and I have no knowledge if it helps or harms to take it into my own hands
it feels better, but I keep coming back
I want to be finished
my soul is too weary for another living body

the way you look through me
makes my heart drop
from my chest
heavily
to my crotch
I wish you'd lower your expectations
and raise your skirt
but it's nice to pretend
that you could ever care for me
when you share platitudes.

I miss my passion
the endless roar of want and need in my throat
every possibility exciting and new
possible, even

I miss needing to know and needing to be and feeling so much
feeling everything, constantly, overwhelmed by so many things that I was lucky enough to experience

and this emptiness, this aching hollow where my heart was
nothing can fill it
where my passion ripped out of me and bled through my shirt as I repeated line after line
an empty space beneath my ribs and behind my throat

I miss explosiveness and anger
I miss crying
I miss feeling whole and real

I want to crawl between your ribs
Nestle on your lungs
Breathe in deep and slow
Feel me there on your sternum

You broken cherry stem
Your body so divine
Your thighs my diadem
Your love as sweet as wine

Break my body down
Rip me into shreds
My skin becomes your gown
And on your wall my head

Longing, probably.
A feeling of need.
For things.
Places.
Longing, such a melodramatic word
Disgusting.
Dreams described as something so weak.
Almost rude
Saying these feelings, these needs
Are little more than a flight of fancy.
A lusting from a pubescent teen boy
Over some pin-up model.
Longing, needing, wanting...
I mean, ******, I NEED THESE THINGS is all
All that my ever-noisy mind screams
"I've seen your drawings.
"Your mind must be like an acid trip."
Not a good one.
Constant, consistent, ever-present, complete need for
Stupid, useless things
For people who give not a care in the world about me
Places that don't want me...
An acid trip, a bad one, dark voices yelling at me,
My guilt full of egotistical self-blame.
"Everything has to be someone's fault.
"Always.
"It must be mine."
My fault, my fault, mine mine mine
Always always my fault.
Stupid stupid
I can't even get things wrong right.
Or whatever.
******.
Longing for understanding,
To understand my inner desires.
For things.
The rude word of longing
Tainting even the shameful wants and needs in my heart.
Stupid...

There is a longing . . .

A longing for your touch,

A longing for your embrace,

A longing to see you and tell you once again

how much I love you,

A longing for your love,

A longing for your care,

A longing for the concern which can only

come from you,

A longing for the depth of warmth you bring;

A longing to begin the rest of my life together with

you.

ผมรักคุณ ครับ Nattida Liyeekay ❤