A fair point,
But you know me.
I've never been good
At drawing my own map.
There's too many
Straight lines.
Besides, my hands shake
Too much.

It's impossible to
Build something
Worth the effort
If the pieces
Won't go back
Together

No, not always.
Without oxygen
Or sufficient fuel
The flames will die.
Though I will be honest,
There are flames I thought
Had been extinguished,
That I now think
I make have been
Mistaken about.
I don't think gasoline would help.
It tends to explode,
And I'm already in so many peices.

I wouldn't call it normal.
I drink until I'm numb
Trying to suppress
The same shadows
I used to be so proud of.
A half measure
Not entirely effective
But it's the only thing
I have that helps.
I'd rather find sanctuary
In someone else.
Someone who understands,
Who helps me to feel.
The problem with fire
Is that it will always burn out,
And every song has an ending.
They help for a while
But they always go away.

It doesn't hurt
When they leave
Only because
I know it's
Going to happen.
I'm used to
Self medicating.
If I hurt when they leave
My medicine cabinet
Is fully stocked anyway.

Sometimes lust
Is preferable.
To feel wanted
For even a short time.
For two bodies to move in rhythm.
Even as strangers.
In a symphony of sweat,
Of flexing muscles.
As I said,
Sometimes lust is preferable.
Because when they leave,
It doesn't hurt.

I've never been partial to sound.
I do enjoy a sweeping melody
Though not near as much
As a carress.
An affectionate embrace.
To merge souls through skin.
Temptation is fleeting
Though I've been too weak
In the past.
Except when I was too strong.
Yet the times I was tempted most
Was when the temptress
Would not look my way.