Close your eyes
   count to three,
it'll go away,
  it'll be okay,
four, five, six
   open your eyes
      you'll be fine
ten, eleven, twelve
when he died, I lost my sight
   I lost my purpose,
     twenty, thirty, fifty
I will never be okay. . .
       & that's okay. .  .

This Christmas,
   I do not ask for a lot,
      I simply wish to dream eternally,
                  so we may meet once more
just a second in time, to ask for forgiveness for who I became.

Inside my polished surface,
my seas are in constant disarray,
the soul, its sweet nectar that fills every crevice.
violent; angry; bitter soul.

Inside my mental shell of self protection,
and the "person" it protects
from the poison that spews from my heart
my soul speaks to me; it reminds me I am weak
violent; angry; bitter soul.

I know well that there is no escape,
no sculptor can prefect; the stone that is broken
no painter can fix; the lines that have bled
no poet can create; emotions which no longer exist
I drag the stones of my own damnation
eternal ; violent; angry; bitter soul.

As time passes, my exterior becomes unpolished
manicured hands become wrinkled and weak,
legs of harden meat, become toothpicks
time is constant,
there is no escape,
but one thing remains
my eternal, violent, angry bitter soul. . .
    that weeps for you. . .

I know my beauty pales in comparison to the beauties of the world,
        the beauties you can find.

Your connoisseur feelings were dragged by my brain, by my words, by my heart with all its splendor, the cadence of my thoughts, the idealism and peculiarity of my mind.
      but I'd be joking if that was true.

You fell in love with my looks, the fury of my ***, and even when I have you I can't help but feel that I lose. . . for I know this love will n̶o̶t̶ ̶l̶a̶s̶t̶. . .

I sit under the desert breeze,
under the tall palm tree pondering,
who I am, what I want,
  what I need, where I want to be,
      why do I live, why do I wake?
the desert sand on my toes, a slight reminder
  of living, a brief sign of my humanity,
        a simple touch. . . with no answers. . .
I am alone. . .
    not even my conscious answers.
          I miss myself. .
Why am I alone? why is my heart scattered
   upon the questions unanswered
          pondering; lack of living
                     I want to live; not p̶o̶n̶d̶e̶r̶

I am here in your eyes,
look at me, hear me, feel me,
better yet forget me
I am like you. . .
we are one in the same; one of many
we are nameless, due to our sameness
sparks, comets, eruptions, cosmic clouds fill the iris.
and yet we are all the same,
filled with darkness, filled with death,
filled with sadness
lost lovers, lost in the cosmic sea unaware,
of our loss of joy, loss of love , loss of fire
ardent passion filled flame lost to ashes,
we are dreamers, dreaming of the beyond,
dreaming of the cosmos, dreaming of love lost
dreaming. . . dreaming . . . dreaming. .
until the day finds us,
   time does not stop, nor is it forgiving.
       yet we cling to night, to our cosmic dreams,
as well fall into walls of depravity,
   on the foggy shores of life,
        on the train that never reaches the station,
we become fixtures, tied to our dreams,
   tied to the past we are s̶h̶a̶d̶o̶w̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶l̶i̶v̶i̶n̶g̶
.

The world is cold with you,
for the flowers that bloomed,
  filled with the hum of the bee,
turn , dreary and cool.

The city is cool with you,
church bells no longer ring,
   our future is bleak,
as the sky comes down to drown the trees.
life is obscure, dark, dim.

Life is cold with you,
  I lose my spark,
     my creativity, my being,
          I lose me.
What little beauty I defended,
is cut , hidden, gone.

The sun escapes my orbit,
   my skies grow darker,
      I toss and I turn,
          pleading for a light; long gone.
begging to return to me; me before you.