Please hold me tonight,
  reignite the unspoken sparks,
     tell me its okay,
         & hold me tight,
            as you love me like our first night,
                  Lets pretend as if we are still love.
So , please h̶o̶l̶d̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶n̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ . . .

If you life up my sleeve,
  you will see one scar. . .
If you peer in my heart,
  you will see fragments of what is left. . .
They called it "attempted suicide"
  but I am a void, ****** into nothingness
I simply want to sleep. . . for us to meet again. . .
I want to be a̶ ̶d̶e̶a̶d̶ ̶p̶o̶e̶t̶. . .

Heart, beloved, yes; we know each other you and I.
How far we drifted, like light in a turbulent sea.
like the vanished rain, in dry desert heat.
Blood pumps like ardent angry flames,
𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚙. 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚙. 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚙.
vast silence broken by the catastrophe.
Heart; bites and pieces of forgotten matter.
In my endless fall into widowed sadness,
I forgot to love, I forgot to live, I forgot to shine.
Whoever looks at us know,
will see a broken man, with a broken heart.
Heart, hold me, forgive me, beat once more.
I want to feel the warm, sun rays of honey,
    I want to shine bright for me and you,
        I want to be. . . ᗩᒪIᐯE. . .

If I love him?
Why do I wan't to remove one more tie,
to the many that bind us,
Do I not already feel love, so why do I crave it?

You started out as a dream, an illusion, an invasion of the thought.
  Slow torture; turned obsession.
     Fast Love; slow grief
My entrails exalting, my pulses exploding.
  With your fire you enslave me,
        & even after death
            I am tortured, when may I choose to be happy?

I am jealous of his laugh; that rings in my soul
and condemns me day & night,
it torments my dying mind,
like a comet in the sky,
amongst the beautiful stars,
it glows from afar,
as I continue to rot on the ground.
I am jealous of his laugh,
jealous I am not enough,
   jealous I am not him. . .

What a strange desire to drown,
   for this loves a sinking boat,
      pull me deep in purple and blue hues,
        the weight of my life in your waves,
           as I toss and I turn below the stars,
            constellations draw pictures of your face,
                listless, dark, dreary, drowning death
                       under your star, under your waves,
                              in this strange fascination
                                      to drown until we meet again.

Hold me like you used to do,
Let my thoughts run free to the moon,
      Let my arteries burn in lustful flame,
             Let me fall in love all over tonight,
for endless are my sorrows,
  so endless my miseries,
        I'm scared. . .
          so let me experience . . . love. . .
                at least for tonight.

It is not the pain itself,
It is the memory of having seen the bottom of the abyss,
The pain of each cataclysm, the pain of living torture.

It is the pain of these sleepless nights,
of this vile memory multiplied.
It is the pain of remembering your scent, It is the pain of this heart which beats through my poor crying soul.
The pain of reliving my abyss , full of nothingness, regret, empty , cold, desolate without you.

These memories bring me down,
     to the void, which I now climb alone.

To my heart that is dead,
deserted of hate and love already lost,
to my heart held by the brakes of my flesh,
I say unto you, stop your song; as I give the twilights of my life.
To be reunited with him once more.

My tenderness for you,
would like to be the grave; the land, so that you rest in my hands.
That is why at 2:48 AM, my alarming thoughts are purified.
As I quietly dig my own grave, u̶n̶t̶i̶l̶ ̶w̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶e̶t̶ ̶a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶'̶

When you lost your hair; you got angry.
   When you lost time; you rushed.
       When your strength left; you shut down.
           When I pushed; you pulled.
              When I talked; you yelled.
                 When I asked; you said " you don't understand"
I was a child,
       young, dumb, but honest.
           I loved you,
                I love you,
                   even if it breaks me.
                       I will love you.

Love is nostalgic,
it is an invisible voice with gentle sadness,
it does not hurt, but it burns. . .
This ʙᴜʀɴɪɴɢ consumes,
   every corner of your soul,
       every tear streamed,
           every word uttered,
leaving ardent ash, wanting time to come to an end.
Forever to last longer, as it paints his picture
always burning, always hearing,
the same old tune.

Is it love?
  No; just imagination.
magical creations; of a longing heart
and ardent passion, burning of desire; wanting.
Only to find disappointment;
Heaven on earth ceased to exist,
    for death tore the veil which shrouded my heart.
which shrouded my eyes; that made me blind.
Now that the spell is lifted, I fall to the ground,
and curse this ʟᴏɴɢɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ.

Change your hair,
  Change your face,
       Change yourself,
           put him first,
Change , Change, Change,
          one thing stays the same. . . it's not you. . .
               it will never be you. . .
                        so consistent.

I was born pure, white , unstained.
Today I am full of resentment , a well of hatred
bitter poison stuck on revenge, stuck on hate, stuck on anger
for I lost you, and I am a̶n̶g̶r̶y̶

Make me the exception,
let me love you; for she does not.
Make believe blindly in you and invade my heart,
****** me of reason,
turn my blood to flame and let burn with passion,
embrace me, never let go, live inside me.
Make me forget, please fulfill my r̶e̶q̶u̶e̶s̶t̶.

With my voice I call you,  
  with my heart I want you,
    with my nerves I feel you,
I love you. . .
Engulf me in your absence,
          fill me with your song. . .
You are eternally absent,
Born from perfected vanity,
     born to invoke anguish,
          for this loneliness numbs me,
Loving you this way it hurts,
     as you become o̶m̶n̶i̶p̶o̶t̶e̶n̶t̶ over my emotions,
I pray, I plead, burn it down
  for this love hurts.

Did I invent love?
Or, is he the one who invented this love?
Why am I tormented by manufacturing this torment?
   This anguish, this pain, this love; which grows.
If we are made in his image,
   why do I suffer this heartbreak?
If he is loving and true,
   why does he not free me from your spell?
            - It hurts

I have nothing left,
neither your touch, nor your lips,
just the echo in my heart; hollow anguish within me.
That is where your presence is,
that is where your presence lives,
  inside my broken clinging soul,
    and this insistence of writing about you,
        is to hear your sound, feel your heat,
             because it hurts, loving you, i̶t̶ ̶h̶u̶r̶t̶s̶.

▼
I am tired of writing to my only fan; my imagination.
Tired of writing, tired of speaking
Tired of shouting, Tired of crying,
Alone. . .
   no one is reading. . .
            no one hears my pleas. . .
                     - A̶l̶o̶n̶e̶

I hit rock bottom again,
  living in my own fiery hell inferno.
Before I coped with the pain,
  or maybe now I float between reality and fantasy,  
     just enough to feel this pain , burning.
My suffering , love lost was external,
    so why is it internal?
I hit rock bottom again,
but this time I am not coping,
    I am b̶u̶r̶n̶i̶n̶g̶.

Did you get home last night?
  " I spent the night at her house"
                  - m̶o̶d̶e̶r̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶r̶t̶b̶r̶e̶a̶k̶

Paint me naked,
A million ways,
    I will never be content,
       With what gazes back .

Save me from this romanticized brain,
my body enacts its revenge,
  Engrossed in an end that does not end.
It penetrated my soul, my body, my mind.
Save me! Save me! From myself!
From these thoughts, of this **** r̶o̶m̶a̶n̶t̶i̶c̶i̶z̶e̶d̶ ̶b̶r̶a̶i̶n̶
.

Am I dying awake?
   or living a dream.
I do know I am drowning,
  falling deeper, deeper, gasping, begging, pleading,
      praying for help!
This H̶o̶m̶e̶, yes, this symbol, we "called" home
  is killing me softly, as it fails to contain this soul.
    Which weeps and dies, for this symbol a constant reminder
     that we used to inhabit.

Chains of d̶i̶s̶a̶p̶p̶o̶i̶n̶t̶m̶e̶n̶t̶s,
  are my tributes to the world.
Failed poems full of incogitable nuances
   each number, another sorrow,
Full of my of diluted fantasies of happiness.
Paint a succession of damages, of a broken heart
    which sings its same old tune,
        old , overplayed, disappointing tune.

Why am I alone?
Pondering and lingering,
consumed in irregular thought.
Why are my tears not heard?
The soul it weeps not seen?
This pain, streamed from my eyes, leaves its sour taste.
Why am I alone?
Happiness surrounds me, and pain imprisons me.
Free me from this cage,
      it chokes me,  
          it's shadow paints me,
                  free me from this loneliness.
-A̶l̶o̶n̶e̶

I saw a strange character in the mirror tonight,
  he smiled at me, rays of sunshine that illuminated his song.
       Like a yellow cannery, impure, happy, small but strong.
          I saw a strange character in the mirror tonight,
                 I wish I could say it was . . . 𝗺𝗲

My mind wanders the cosmos and the heavens,
always thinking, what you'd think of the man I became?
   Should I come and meet you in the dark?
      Would we be bestfriends again?
          Is this E̶x̶a̶l̶t̶e̶d̶ thinking,
             or the madness of my own silence?

Like the trains,
  that always run late.
      I was late to love,
      I was late to happiness,
      But I was early to the desolate sea of loneliness that awaits us,
        as the train gets lost in the foggy gray hills of death,
             we all reach. . . you were early to that stop.
                   I am still late waiting for the station, for us to meet.

Inside my mundane complexion
constant tides and angry currents stir,
it bites and claws at my insides,
hoping, pleading, to form the words
for him to notice how much he means to me.
But another voice, internal screams out.
Even though ages have passed,
flesh has turned to dust,
my heart is yours,
my mind is yours,
my brain is yours,
my lust is his,
  but your voice,
         leaves me s̶p̶e̶e̶c̶h̶l̶e̶s̶s̶,
            as I know I am not the one.

When did I detach myself from the current of reality,
eternally fused to the nothingness that awaits us?
To become a slave of dreams and machinations.

When did I become another heartbeat,
longing for fantasies of love,
only to find the anguish that comes from human desire.
Knowing that we are powerless to our fascinations.

How many days go by, as we long to be remembered?
For art, for name, for doing, for living
only to reach the same end of obscurity.

They call me a deconstructionist, a detester of life.
But are we not worthlessly tied to this current of life?
We are born with no concepts, no meaning, an echo of what is to come.
& that same echo escapes us in the end.

D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶c̶r̶y̶ ̶l̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ ̶b̶o̶y̶,
you are vain, blasphemous, ungrateful
         an arrogant and flawed poetic braggart.
you are an egomaniacal, cold, self centered fragile flower
          of your own self built malediction.
your heart black, wicked, evil, vengeful.

Don't cry little boy,
    just avoid the mirror,
       avoid the thousand cuts of self inflicted pain.
          as the man you grew into gazes back.

In the mirror I see,
An old vase, full of white chrysanthemums,
Under a sea of emotions,
I imagine the vase in vast hues of blue, red, purple, green.
It changes and morphs into my creation,
but the chrysanthemums persist,
for a vase is a vase, change is change,
but what is inside stays the s̶a̶m̶e̶.

This pain I have carried.
   This pain I proclaim,
        This song I sing,
             This song of love,
                  I can not erase
                    when will
                       I finally
                           be
                             f̶r̶e̶e̶?̶

I have written thousands of poems,
30,000 thousand words and counting.

A quilt of memories both mine and yours,
   quatrains and couplets amongst swaying palm trees.


I wrote about anger, I wrote about hate,
   I wrote about death, I wrote about love,
       I wrote about lust, I wrote about you.

I drew maps in the stars,
   and my words became waves of emotion plunging
     me ever deeper into insanity.

But the words yet left unwritten,
    can not be created or describe,
       each day l̶i̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶

This wave of emotions,
that has invaded with savory harmony of unbreathable anxiety.
Mornings to nights, nights faded. . .
sorrows well achieved and joys badly lived.
Be still my wounded heart,
as it pulls me in.