move me, kindred spirit
to be inspired once again
by quick birds and perfect flowers
by glimmers of light sparkling in a sunset
by the regenerating hearts of night crawlers making beds of earthen waves

let us appreciate, together
the simple joy of
breathing simultaneously

sometimes when I peek at that reflection
every intention involved in letting the world see me
instantly goes away

each time i feel i am depleted,
whenever i strike bedrock,
they ask for more -
i dig deeper.


on an ever higher
uphill climb
but how can i say i’ve failed
if i’m still climbing?

i want to fail.
i want to give up.
i want this boulder to fall and crush me,
to give reason to this pain
in my hands and
in my chest.

(he said he’d give me a good reason to cry -
no reason seems good enough anymore.)

i cannot stop,
no matter how much i want to.
there is no hope in persevering anymore.

only dread.

there’s a gap where my place in the world should be.
a gaping hole where purpose once lived.

the pieces i put back together
have fallen
apart
again.
how many times must i be reborn?

renewed.
reimagined.

it implies something existed
before.


but every time i am born,
it feels like the first time.

i am the hand of god,
and i am adam.
my hand caringly sculpts the clay
but i am sad to see
all i can create is
me.

i am my own doom.
my free will transformed into self-determinism.
i am a fool and i am aware,
all at once.
the world can never hurt me.

i am the only one that can hurt myself.

creator and creature,
why do you weep?
tear pieces off your soul
and make them bread
to feed those you wish cared for you.

they will not care, when you are on the cross
they will not weep.
when your self-sacrifice reaches its zenith.

only you will cry for yourself, son of god.

tw: ed--------

you tell me about your success,
but what have you gained
when you are proud of your loss?

less,
and less,
"just a little bit more",
you lose a part of yourself everyday
and take pride in it,
you open schrodinger's box
and you're glad when the cat is dead,
you **** yourself
in the name of "living well".

what did the child inside you do to you?

why do you starve it,
deprive it,
and punish it
for not looking sickly,
emaciated,
tortured enough?
why do you love pain so much?

but alas,
by all means,
go ahead,
hurt yourself more,
it won't ever be enough.
you know it.

blame yourself,
blame your parents,
blame god.
in the end,
you can take the kid
from the abuse,
but never the abuse
from the kid.

don't do unto yourself what they have done to you.

they will never learn.
i hope you will.

take,
take all i have,
open me up,
rob me
of what working organs i have left,
carve what you want
into my bones,
take,
until there's nothing left,
and then scream,
into unhearing ears,
that i'm not giving you enough.

perhaps then i shall be reborn.

when i am no longer
of any use to you,
my blind eyes shall see you
for what you really are.
not fixing,
not caring,
not approaching,
but intruding,
stealing,
killing.

blessed be the vivisected.