To breathe air as if it has meaning,
As if it's meaning releases chemicals,
As if these chemicals **** doubts,

As if these doubt's concern, how I have yet to figure myself out.
As if I am an electric chair designed
by my own bare hands.

Sentencing whatever piece of me that is still good to its last day.
Like my slanderous, wicked words wasn't lies, yet they were bits of truth.

The truth of pure hatred haunting me.
As if this truth was to be told, it would cancel out the sun in my make believe, fantasy world.

As if you were doing everything in your power to hold on to that last hour.
Where I would proceed the process in breaking your heart.

Staining it like Scarlet in some liquid form across a porcelain article of clothing.
Red for the loathing I left in your spirit,

To hold against me.
Why in the hell do I hate me?
Because of the times I clouded your

judgment.
The times I made you cry,
What should I feel?

If it's wrong to think that I should die.
Yet I know suicide, is not what you would answer back.

There for I am forever broken until we pick up where we left off at.
Broken by your broken heart.

In a dark cave I can see your bright innocent eyes.
Eyes,

Your strong hands becoming my candle,
Remember?

We’re running as fast as we can, to discover light.
Fright,

Fearful emotions coursing through me, while you remain brave.
Saved,

Like this reality summarizes your whole life.
Secret life,

Your strong broad arms clinches to me, like how my father’s once did.
Live,

Memories being animated, how my heart used to beat.
So deep,

I am grateful to feel the strength of your love.
Free like white doves.

Free from doubts of loving a stranger.

Oh how sweet it is? So sweet, isn’t it?
To live in the same joyous ways you once did,
Before you learn your alphabets.
To have the same conscious,
Before you got used to saying “****”

I sit here smoking a Black & Mild,
Asking myself, “what is this ****?”
The plastic tip burning.
I’m inhaling, like it is cool.

Mock the happy people,
Because that’s just what I do, Nah.
Because that’s a crowed I will never become.
I to happiness is like birds to fish.

If the term “in my feeling” was a man.
Man, our ****** activities would be so graphic and explicit.
To the point, where people would mistake my profession.
Just like how they mistake Marylyn Monroe’s.

I would be like so many other women.
Saying I hate how my man can’t listen.
But allowing his hypnotic strokes from his tempted pelvis to be my prison.
Saying I’m leaving, but come back to visible bruises.
Like ****, am I trippin?

Sometimes I dream,
My 150 plus pound well-conditioned vessel laying in a twin sized mattress.
My worries are tired and put to rest.
So all that exist is nothing.

Obviously vulnerable as a priest without the knowledge of the spiritual realm.  
I am opened to something.
MY obstacle, My road block,
My own worst enemy, a stagnant mind.

The competitive demon, who fails to fall behind.
Strangled,
Mangled,
Tangled in a fit of rage.
Taking place in my once sweet fantasy.

As something that is dark, and mysterious wraps around my scrawny long neck.
While I toss and turn.
Wrapped in my bed sheets.
The realization is no longer complicated.
Yes, it’s me who is holding myself by the throat.
Shouting Die! Die! Die!

In my murderous dreams, I wake to freedom.
Where my mind is active, still intact.
Attached by strings.

All the time I've wasted,
Wasted searching for love in the norm.
Harmed, when reality swarms.

No! No! No!
Man come from women,
Laying with the same *** is immoral.
Whom ever journey through that portal is inhuman,
targets for hypocritical stone flingers.

But why in the hell do I feel so wrong?
Like I don't belong,
Forced to be alone.

While I kick and scream in the darkness.
Incarcerated by finger pointer's expectations,
I love his voice, I love his hair, his vibe.

The conversations that makes me feel alive.
Yet I hide,
Afraid of self esteem killers
Capturing my pride.

Gay for the ideals of loving a guy.
But if the lands of insecurities is where I resign.

Than inside and out I will die.

Under layers that cannot be seen.
I hear your frustrations scream.
Exposing crimson veins, symbolizing the loathe you burry inside.
Out loud it is denied,
Confidentially in search for a shelter to hide.
From the smallest shade of olive green leaves and petals,
To gigantic grey boulders.

Its goal is never satisfied.
“Look in my eyes, you can tell I ain't never scared
Poppin' them thangs, I'm rockin' my chain anywhere”
But,
How far will your feet stomp across the concrete?
Keeping your anger discrete.
Your feelings maybe locked in your heart.
But it’s not a body, it’s not human like us.

See,
Any day we can get bodied.
But your anger is a spiritual form of skin.
Waiting to be bandaged by the ears of somebody.
Don’t display your bravery like it’s sincere.
Matter of fact come here.

Let me look you into the windows of your soul.
Let your tears become Windex,
So I can see clear.
As I cry and mourn with you.
While I cut through more layers.
I’m not a savior,
Simply because I need a prayer too.

But I will never play you.
I will ride until the commands of a Master Sargent orders the 21 gun salute.
Just as if our skin was super glued.
Yes, this is deep.
But please don’t tell me you are relieved.

When even the tone your voice is in grief.
Please let your  guard be weak.

Pall Mall cigarettes ashed into a small, white plastic ash-tray.
The remains resemble grains of sand at the beach.
Lonely nights sent his way.
A perfect world in yesterday's time zone.
Health problems with no regards.

Happiness drifting so far,
Like a lost child in a newly discovered city.
Miles away from love, family, and the thoughts of tomorrow.
Cheap ***** damaging the insides of his slim, Caucasian stomach.
I think of him from a distance, a few miles from where time seem to disappear.
In a caged atmosphere, which must remain secret to outside ears.

Afraid of words that could ****.
Afraid of the chance where time stands still.
The day after it burns into the back of my brain.
Making me feel slightly insane.
Like if I told him in just few short days how my hopes are so high,
would it all plop down the drain.

Painfully rinsing off my first impression of him.
Would I give him so many empty promises like the one's of my past?
Would he leave me afraid to be in love again?
**** a cure, the way he holds my hand, when he holds my hand.
I would rather  be love sick, I hope it last like the caramel complexion of my skin.

I hope to be the chauffer driving him the hell away from where he has been.
I feel so crazy for expressing my feelings.
Though I feel as if he wants to be more than just friends,
From how we kissed.
I feel ******* nuts telling him, how after just a few short hours he is missed.
Though his loneliness is something he accepts.

From being in the same boat, I hope I can put it to rest.