I push, with all my might
as my mind attacks your silence
and my heart whispers stop.

I believe for a second, then stumble,
clutching at hope,
in a last ditch attempt 
to hold on to myself,
to you,
to us.

I push again, harder now
drowning in defiance
as tears burn pallid flesh
and skin is softly bruised
by diagnosed loathing and sharpened hands.

I push once more
your name now an echo
too late upon my lips
an unwanted cry to the weary,
ever to remain unanswered.

Doubt settles.
Internal voices
vicious, vindictive,
confirm contempt.
Laying low,
silently shaking,
catching breaths
beneath the fallout.
Darkness decends,
it's chill envelops
as hope dies eternal
my demise it's final joy.

I'm feeling a little bit prickly
Like the ******* son of a porcupine
created on a misspent night with an over amorous cactus.

I'm trying to shake it off,
staring at blank paper
while it flips me the bird
as I **** into the wind,
feeling like the next government health warning
model looks on a ***** billboard
my edges tattered

Friends'll get you nowhere but down
thats life in a nutshell
pettiness and spite reign all
in "hallowed halls"
however nicely put.

Calls unanswered, messages lost
delivery reports mock my waiting
and bristle my backbone
with their happy chimes.
I want to slap myself so hard that my skin rings
but to what purpose.

Stupid is as stupid does,
the new mantra
stick it on a t shirt for the "tourists"
with the obligatory hashtag
for the smiley faced patronisers
.com .org  .bored

I do enjoy your poems
but his I cannot stand
and now I find, to my surprise
you might be the same man

Although the names are different,
the scathing natures strong
and now I read that others here
have thought it all along!

Though yours have some intelligence
and his are total *****
There's something so familiar
In the way both of you write

So I'll sit back and ponder this a while
a mystery its true
then maybe get the nerve to ask
is Loghain Carvo you?

He left with the passing time
no farewells offered
no heartfelt backward glance
his footfalls ticking seconds
echoing in the Sunday parlours of the righteous he despised

He left with the passing time
no one mourned,no tears were shed
His sacred, bleeding heart
now but a tattooed image
on the chests of the dejected

He left with the passing time
on whispers of myths
and suspected tall tales
doubting his own truth
despising the lie of his creation

He left with the passing time
while pious mice sang of his glory
behind the battlements of faith
as the wars of the wicked raged in his name

He left with the passing time
while mothers wailed at shaken babes
and the disappeared sang from **** choked graves

He left with the passing time
as society shunned his brand
and drunken feet  danced lasciviously on his moral high ground

He left, with the passing time...