An infestation has stammered into my heart,
(your eyes.)
I see my breath in the air,
(get of of my head.)
Please, I beg you, get out.

All of you out of all of me.
Stagger your way out of my innards and down those
rotting stairs.
My hearts forgets how to work with you
in it.
Make your way down into the basement and die there.

My head swells up with loathsome thoughts
of you.

Sweetie, honey, Darling, I beg you...
Please, get out of me.

You must be evicted now.
I am tired.

I am not the self described squabbles in my head.
I am not the sorrowful truths left unsaid.
I am not a fetching dandelion, unable to run.
I am not all the inflections at the end of your tongue.
I am not your precious suicide notes.
I am not secure in your idea of hope.

I am, however, worthy of this life.
If I thought any other way, I will only deny, deny, deny.

I am denial.
I am pompous.
I am worthy.
I am Light.

If you happen to fall in love with me,
just know, and this is so,
I will be your sunshine and your rain.

I apologize for both.

I expect not a savior,
But a light that shines out into
The ocean.
I was the lost ship for so long until
I saw your light.
This is balance.
The look in your eyes should be
A crime.
Lock me up.
Melt down the golden key.
I want to be behind those brittle bars,
With you.  
Only you.
This is true.

Rhyming words feels forced tonight,
Like my hatred for you.
I spin miracles with my black pen.
All that's left are tears streaming from
Face to paper.
Static thoughts pierce my mind tonight,
And I cry.
I can't quite write tonight.
There are words, but only the ghost
Of them.
I thought I had buried them looking ago.

I drink out of the bottle,
Desperately,
Like a baby does in its blissful youth.
The tools are ready, but the craftsman is off,
Broken perhaps.
I try again, but all that's left is my trembling right hand, and the fact:
I can't quite write tonight.

I spit out vowels and consonants,
I'll try and give it one more go.
First one word, and then the other.
Wait, yes, there's hope.
A sentence exists,
And I feel bliss, until I read what it says.
I miss you.

****.
I can't quite write tonight.

Bloated stems shoot out of my throat,
Reaching out for hopeful, yellow rays.
Repulsion sets in though,
Like your defeated Grace when you think
Of her face.
Your glass heart cannot take it this way.
These stems see this; they must escape.
Out of this sensation, there lays a
Hopeful lie.
(If there's ever such a thing.)
Gargoyles are the time keepers of her.
Oh how they stand guard of the memories
You still hold of her,
For her,
In you,
You're through.

My eyes cry out dead flowers.
Each petal is wet on the cold ground,
laying there oh so very proud.
I could stare at them for hours.

There is beauty in rotting things
Can't you see?
There is beauty in old meanings
Even if they make you bleed.