the fire you built
to keep us warm
is burning me to death.

I am not easy with my words
I do not think, do not ponder, do not wait 5 seconds
I speak
I speak bitterness and enmity
The words flow out of me like blocks of cement
Like cannons, like bullets
Leaving wounds, leaving blood
I have found I am a lot like a body of water
The ocean for example is beautiful looking at it from the shore
But the farther down you go the darker and more grisly it gets
Or perhaps I am like a river
The problem with rivers is they look calm on the surface but underneath they're unpredictable, full of chaos and this is like most people
This is how nature proves visible in seemingly miniscule aspects of our lives
This is how nature destroys itself
This is how we dig our own graves
This is where the story is not so sweet anymore
There is a time and place for everything
There are words for each situations
Ones that fit the puzzle just right, leaving just enough space for comfort
I do not know these places, I do not know these words
I only know cement

Love,  be gentle and kind,
take that rusty gun from under
my pillow and shoot me twice
in the heart so I can feel the hurt
from the first time and the pain
from the second again;
but don't bury me in the dirt
beneath your bare feet,
just burn me like the memory
of your brown soles I saw
running away, oh, so long
a time ago, I can't even remember.

Underneath these artless skies
I marry the ghost within you
because the stories are now
screaming mad, and dark,
and every time your name
rolls unto my tongue, it thunders,
and I tremble, and tremble,
and like a thousand ships set against
the tide, I will my eyes to sleep;
cold as ice, mother, pray tell
how does one go to sleep when
Thanatos is the one weaving the
blanket; rather awake than dead;
half a heart than half a soul;
tell me if I open you up I'll find anything
other than flesh, other than nothingness;
you're so vacant and uninhabited, I forget
you're not an abandoned building;
tell me how I can go to sleep
without being woken up by the ghost
of you in my head, dancing to music
we once made when we touched; I'll
revisit those little joys, and maybe I'll
understand why empty vessels make
the loudest noise.

be compassionate about what you like
for it is the best thing that you could ever had
rather than complaining or doing nothing at all.