What is this curse I bear...
To always be aware of my doings,
But never knowing why?

I am a lost ship with no rudder or flares,
I am a roaming car with no wheel,
I am a scout with no compass...

I am,
a soul,
a heart,
a mind,

with no truth
no light
nigh even a tenuous sky...

when I lay these eyes upon where the stars would be,
Mindnumbing shudders grapple my limbs and slay me forth against the walls I'd built but only to keep my heart safe,
mindrunning awild as I can only see behind me.
Time, rushing away from these brittle bones.
I,
have no idea

To play the heartstrings plays a song only we can hear,
To love the artist of words,

Every string you pluck,
Becomes our canvas.
Make us cry,
The world will read.

To love a writer,
Is to publish your deeds.

i am the ripple on the pond
\
the pebble you've cast
makes me see my own reflection
/
i

Chicken scratch,
Chicken scratch...

scribbles,
   Slashed against the page...

What is this rage?

This ink is my blood.
   Let me bleed some more.


~Robert van Lingen

You asked for the truth,
I offered, yet I am graced with silence.

This isn't a battle, yet somehow I'm losing.
This isn't a war, but I am still defeated.

This wasn't a fight.
T'was a slaughter.

A senseless homicide of a friendship that I don't think I could ever understand.

I will not be the mannequin for you to unload upon your confused attacks,

I do forgive you though.

I bear no grudge,
I hold no anger.

My role in this play is now,
To patiently wait for your truth.
Even if it will never arrive.

To speak of my pains is my release from which.
It is not merely my drudgery within the muds of self-wallowing.
It is an awakening when I read my own words and learn who I am in that moment.
It is a point from which to move on, a stepping stone.

Watch the silent fire,
Watch me scorch my battered heart,
Ashes cannot burn.