"ama", you called me
word-play, of which you were so fond
meaning simultaneously
"maid" and "mistress", you said

if only we had not ripped each other to pieces,
i would have liked very much
to continue existing in that paradoxical state
and inspiring countless more.

your dark eyes have haunted me
ever since I first saw your face.

insatiable, smoldering, unfocused

I think, like an ant beneath a glass,
I would have burst into flames if you had looked directly at me.

I kept that photograph
and now that you're gone,

I admire you endlessly,
and long to be burned.

"Enlightenment-Romanticist Complex", you called it,
my conflict of idealism and rationality

Like a doctor, you laid it out for me plainly
the nature of my illness, from which i was unlikely to recover

though somehow you, the eternal pessimist,
managed to harbor some hope that I would.

But tell me, love,
honestly
weren't you, yourself, still suffering from the same?

You looked forward to a full recovery,

but imagine how deliriously happy we could have been

in our little sick-bed.

I'm sick to death

of gulping unspoken words and
sulking tears of frustration
bitter and burning all the way down

of drowning my anger under
the stagnant swamp of "nice",
choking alone in murky depths.

of pulling out my fangs
and curling my tail
and suffocating my soul

of gently nudging all the sheep
who wander, lost and stupid
back towards the green field.

Are all my smiles deceptions?

I want so badly to be good.

But despite it all I am a wolf,
a wild and howling thing
who trembles with pleasure at the taste of blood.

What sheep could understand this loneliness?

What wolf could forgive this betrayal?

I came upon a wolf one day
with eyes of fire and diamond-pelt
the crystallization of deductive logic
like a coat of snowflake swords

His whiskers were syringe-needles
dripping with the vaccine for stupidity
which I think he must have developed
in the laboratory of his moonlit mind

Fear I had of wolves, but some dark fascination,
a death-wish of my heart
bid me to walk awhile with him
and stroke his coat of blades until I bled

and he licked my hands.

But it was with fire, not ice, that he maimed me
at first the little embers, the little burns
the little ****** of something other than pure and peerless truth
that came from inside of him, where the diamonds were not

Your heart, friend wolf
was only a long, deep stretch of feverish despair
and though I would have licked your wounds as you licked mine
you refused to bare them to me and bit me instead.

Fear I had of wolves, once
but now I bear the marks where his diamonds cut
and his fire burned -
a vaccine for stupidity if I ever had one.

You were an intellectual jewel
a glittering phenomenon in the sky, some disturbance of space-time
in which all things were knit together in a subjective pattern
and so tightly pulled together that light reflected from every facet
in turn, as you spun, like a windmill,
like a tyger
frightening in your perfect symmetry
in which every stripe was a symbolism
and every red a cleansing fire
which purified everything it touched,
or touched it.

The love I felt for you was first of pity,
for you did not know what it meant to feel,
and you had few friends.

But in time I grew to love you properly,
for your complex simplicity
and your ethereal strict beauty.

And I thought then,
that even if you could not return my love,
it was enough to look at you.

I wish you would put your colonialism into me
Political correctness be ******!

Flood my country with your spiced milk
and suffocate in sticky heat every sentiment
which is disagreeable to your southern sensibilities
So that our two societies might be of one mind
and enter into unbreakable alliance.

sometimes, lying in bed
i remember how warm

do souls get recycled
does love fade to entropy

your teeth were white
someday, please smile again

don't cry because of me.

get out with your grocery lists
your tickets for my trip to hell
don't shop here, you *******
you big box small mind bootlickers
is what I want to say
but all I say is
beep
beep
beep
4011
would you like the bananas in a separate bag?
your total is 26.78
have a nice day

you were a flame,
and i the moth, my love.

i found your darkness beautiful,
and longed to be destroyed by your hands.

though i hoped to become light, i loved your shadow

i wanted to light you up
to be annihilated together
in the sweet surrender of neutral territory.

my dear, imagine the things we could have done

when with mere words you reached so deep inside of me.

my soul was not prepared

for your mind, so world-weary
and your heart, so innocent

your words, so blunt
your voice, so soft

the mild amusement in your tone
the twitching between my legs

the sadistic longing to break you into pieces
the masochistic yearning to be shattered into the same

and the blissful delusion that we could ever melt them together

The scar, you said
was a physical reminder of "love"

I don't know who "loved" you,
or why they found it necessary

but I would have made it my life's work
to undo theirs.

Too late, or too wild:
Which was I for you?
Though you amused yourself with me
it was she for whom you longed.

Though it is mid-summer,
the coldest winter wind is flowing
over my salt sea.  It swells up,
spilling over the white sand.

Oh!  Would that /I/ had been your lady,
and those same waves instead
lapped with cheer at your feet,
as they wandered along my shore
leaving your mark in your wake.

Go to hell you daisy-eyed Rue21 priestesses
Clamoring for significance in ***** dressing rooms
Ashy skinned in clumsy selfies, splayed out like convenience stores
There's dust on your shelves and all your candy is stale.

Go to bed you pajama-pantsed prima donnas
bleached blonde and child-weary, swiping plastic for apple juice
Can't you see I have to go to work?
Pick your ******* cigarettes already!

Go to church you ******* hypocrites
You incessant fat barking chihuahuas
If Karen at the office is so insufferable,
why don't you just leave?

Go **** yourselves you snide social statisticians
prancing around prize racehorses
You'll be glue on somebody /else's/ eyelashes when you're done.