I was mechanical, husked from a man,
pieced back together with my mechanical hands;
and though my only pride left rest in my hands,
I was both machine and man.

You sat me beside you and gave me a name,
you told me you loved me and asked for the same;
I acknowledged and promised to give you the same,
though I could not give you a name.

Your delicate question came with a tear
as you whispered it into my mechanical ears;
but your question only echoed between empty ears,
and my skin began to rust from your tear.

You left one last touch and sighed your goodbye,
you walked so far away until you were gone from my eyes;
and so I shut off my hands, my ears, and my eyes
so that the last thing I felt was 'goodbye.'

I touch the side of my face
as I shutdown my life,
my cheek is wet...
I stare straight ahead
as the screen goes black.
I sit for a moment
and cry.

When love to God  grows
Peace  blooms in full

it was a late afternoon
when I opened
myself
naked and bare
to the heavens above
nobody listened
not a single deity
rescued me

the same day
that evening
when all the world
was silent and still
I prayed again
hoping that this time
someone would hear
the only voice
that was near

in between the night
and the daylight
there I would wake
in between its heartbeat
across the sky

mourning
for my own life
mourning for a death
that has not happened yet.

It's the gift and curse of the artist,
To peak so high and drop so low.
This work seems like not the hardest,
Emotional damage seldom shows.
Inspiration formed in heartbreak,
A mighty hurricane of change.
Emotions finally able to make,
But then scatter out of range.

It's how characters become reality,
The artist's vision begins to show.
Through the high and low duality,
Our hero meets his greatest foe.
If this tale is autobiographical,
Then I shall control the story.
But which ending is more appicable:
Greatest failure or greatest glory?