I still feel every touch, every lingering kiss, your body pressed up against mine.
I hate it. I hate you.

Nights like this, when it all just comes back, this is when I want to die.

I want to get in the shower and just scrub my skin until I feel clean… But I know it won’t help because this feeling isn’t skin deep. It’s burnt into me.

I want to go and brush my teeth until it hurts and I can’t bear it any more and then keep going just to get your taste out of my mouth… But I know it won’t help because this feeling isn’t skin deep. It’s soaked into me.

I want to go and find that ******* bed and dowse it is gasoline and burn it like the gates of hell… But I know it won’t help because this feeling isn’t an item I can destroy. It’s tattooed in my brain.

I want you to go and find you and make you feel as bad as I do. I want to see you begging in tears for this to go away, and when you are all I’ll say is…. This feeling can’t be taken away.

We all talk about that inspiration,
That voice in our head,
Talking to us,
Shouting like a Sargent,
Then whispering like a butterfly,
What some refer to as their muse.

But what about that feeling,
The one you get that makes you want to create,
The one that vibrates in your fingertips,
Then starts making your brain run for ideas at light speed,
The feeling that grabs hold of your soul and brings it to life.

The feeling that begins,
Even before your inspiration is there,
The one that can last for days until you find your muse,
The feeling that wakes you up in the night,
The one that pushes you to crazy lengths,
It has no sense of time,
All it has is an intense want,
A need,
Like a baby needs its mother.

This is the thing I live for,
This is when a true masterpiece is created,
For only then do we have the true desire for something great,
Only then are we pushed to our full extent,
Only then have I experienced such a fierce flame,
Small embers which turned into a roaring fire.

Shall I compare thee to a dying cat?
Though art more helpless and more deafening:
Rough winds do shake the tassels of your curling mat,
And your piercing voice hath all to high a range:
Sometimes too loud the voice of torture cries,
And often his mute button is left in pieces;
And every hair on the back of your neck begins to rise,
By fright or by pain increases;
But thy pitchy voice shall not die,
Nor loosen it's grip around my throat;
Nor shall death come as you moan and cry,
Even when you start to quote;
As I lay me down to sleep I pray thee lord my soul to keep,
If I should die before I wake I pray thee lord my soul to take.

Where were you?
When I needed you most.
Where are you?
When I need you now.
I'll tell you where you're not,
By my side,
With me.

Why'd you go?
Why'd you leave?
Leave me alone,
All on my own,
When I need a friend,
With a hand to leand,
You turn your back,
And walk away.

Alone,
Walking all alone,
Most would feel lonely,
Some would want company,
But I strive for the lonesome ness.

You traded me my innocence
For some stuff that made no sense
Until I was old enough to see
Just what you did to me
But by then it was too late
You already broke though the gate
I gave away my lock and key
Only now do I know it was stupid of me
Now I feel gross
Sick
*****
Infected
Because I left myself unprotected.
So did you get what you want?
Did you get what you need?
Because you certainly took it all from me.

And when we become someone else, someone we're not, when we slip into a different skin and act against our views and morals do we truly see the person we are, the only person we could be, but by then we are tainted with a sort of corruption, we know we'll never forget what it is we have become and that shame of turning into something so ******, something we always said we'd never be, that is the shame we hold heaviest on our souls. The shame we'll take to the grave, and even then, once we're dead and gone, six feet under, we will still suffer in silence of that time so long ago that we let ourselves down, and gave life to a beast.