Love, hate, life, and death?
In seventeen syllables?
Give me a minute.

in order to make it home safely,
i need to reach the end of this hallway.

in order for me to move forward,
i need to reach the end of this hallway.

in order for me to become a better person,
i need to reach the end of this hallway.

in order for me to understand myself,
i need to reach the end of this hallway.

in order for me to do just about anything, really,
i need to reach the end of this hallway.

but i never do.
in fact, the most i've ever managed
is just a few steps
before i freeze in my tracks, unable to keep going.

it confused me at first,
but like anything else in life,
all i had to do was connect the dots
to realize why i always get stuck there.

if only you'd move.
if only you wouldn't take residence
at the end of this hallway,
staring at me quietly from the opposite side.
if only you'd turn around,
even if just for a moment,
so that i might dash forth before you look at me again,
as if it were a game of "red light, green light."

but you don't.

you never move.
you never turn around.
you simply observe me from afar,
waiting for the day where i'll be able to move
forward
on my own
even in your presence.

sorry to say, but
i'm not quite sure when
or if
that day will ever come.

Lately, whenever I'm about to fall asleep,
an inexplicable
and outrageous surge
of unfathomable dread
creeps into my being
and ruptures my peace.

It sends shivers down my spine
and makes my skin crawl.

This dread invades my soul at the same time each night,
mere seconds before I begin my calm respite
by retreating into my dreams.

I fear the moment this dread comes alive,
but not because of the possibility
of never waking up again.

Rather, I fear it
because of the possibility
of waking up
in a world without you.

I woke up today
and I felt
extremely
out of place.

I looked around
and everything was the same,
leading me to believe
that I was out of my mind.

but I knew I wasn't.

I walked around my home slowly,
fingers gliding across the newly painted walls
and clasping onto frozen metal of door handles,
then drumming against the
darkened mahogany of the kitchen table
trying to figure out
what was missing.

What was missing?

I was there,
so that wasn't missing.

My wallet was there,
so that wasn't missing.

My coat was there,
so that wasn't missing.

My car was outside,
so that wasn't missing.

My keys were by the door,
so that wasn't missing.

I looked again.

Your keys weren't there,
so that was missing.

Your car wasn't there,
so that was missing.

Your coat wasn't there,
so that was missing.

Your wallet wasn't there,
so that was missing.

Ah, yes.
That's right.

You.

It was you.

You were missing.

It's funny, because every morning
I wake up feeling
extremely
out of place.

And every morning, I look around
and see that everything is the same,
leading me to believe
that I'm out of my mind.

And every morning, I tell myself
that I'm not.

But I know I am.

Because every morning, I walk around my home,
looking for you.

Even though I know
that you're what's missing.

Maybe I should just
leave some notes around the house
reminding myself
that you're what's missing.

Better yet, maybe I should just
leave some notes around the house
reminding myself
that you're never coming back.

I think about you.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people think about you.

I care about you.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people care about you.

I enjoy spending time with you.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people enjoy spending time with you.

I look forward to interacting with you.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people look forward to interacting with you.

I feel at ease when I talk to you.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people feel at ease when they talk to you.

I find your beauty astonishing.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people find your beauty astonishing.

I think you'll lead a worthwhile life.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people think you'll lead a worthwhile life.

I can't help but feel that your existence is crucial to my own.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people feel that your existence is crucial to their own.

Thus, my affinity for you isn't anything special.
Or, at least, that's what I like to tell myself.
Because that makes dealing with the truth
so much easier.

There's nothing here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me think to myself.

There's no thought here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me question reality.

There's no reality here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me look forward to the future.

There's no future here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes my past seem worth the effort.

There's no effort here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me believe either side has anything going for it.

There's no belief here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes it all understandable, righteous, reasonable.

There's no reason here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes any of this make sense.

There's no wrong,
there's no right,
there's no up,
there's no down.

All there is
is me.
In the middle,
unaffected.

Forgotten in the lust of the moment
His memories dissipate in the warmth of her movements
Her swaying curves encompass his mind
And her heated breaths eradicate his conscience

Her whispers illustrate his inner thoughts as she bares her skin
While his hands ambitiously caress her natural self
Recalling betrayal, his grip on her vices tightly for an instant in time
As she sensually digs her lips and teeth into his neck

The lights dance with feverish passion in their ambivalent escapade
As his memories ignite into a collective blaze of clouded lies
Her voice breaks the atmosphere with a powered summoning of excitement
While the bladed steel in his back pocket speaks to him briefly

Frozen like ice, the edged iron derails his controlled contemplation
Heated like flame, her crimson lips reassuringly invite his aged soul into her dimension of hellfire
Confliction between two halves disperse the balance within his plane of existence
Differing feelings unable to become one

Failure to merge two views of life
Alongside inability to accept separation of what was once whole
Leads to an amalgam of bewilderment and hatred deep inside the darkest corners of deception
The triggered fuse detonates inappropriately with his free hand now attached to the hilt of silver

Shadowed recollections of the others' tears invoke his fury with every stab
Purest inhibitions of hidden urges shatter sustained reality with every slice
Broken trust of ill-fated bonds reverse his mentality with every gush of blood
Tainted sight of misperceived intentions annihilate his reasoning with every anguished scream of her voice

Collapsed, her distorted body lay lifeless and unrecognizable on the carpet floor of the room
Scarlet liquid of distilled life now dripping menacingly from the edges of his manifested insanity
Hazy emotions interrupt his logic as he stumbles away from the scene he attempted to avoid
While erroneously dropping the reddened murderer to the floor with a crash

Volume I – Awakening
In sleep, her thoughts crossed all dimensions steep.
Rested souls collect aged feelings through faith.
Her breaths slowly brought forth life from the deep.
Dreams and nightmares ceased here like a dark wraith.
Uneasiness stirring in her soul's debts.
Darkness clawing, her spirit now unfurled.
Reawakened through plagued, darkened onsets,
She found herself alone in this false world.
Lucidity sparking with thoughts of "Why?"
Contemplation flaring, questioning "What?"
"The first step is the hardest," they did lie,
For trekking this wasteland opened a cut.
Years of confined thought now gone from this zone—
He suddenly grasped her hand with his own.

Volume II – Potential
Burning brightly, lavender eyes scanned her
As her own sight of faded gold quivers.
A solitary voice, ruffled as fur.
"What is your name, child of deathly shivers?"
Her lips trembled with worries of unknown,
"Your presence makes me feel ever unsafe."
Violet irises with doubt renown,
"'Tis you—not I—who should worry right now."
His hand smoothed her hair slowly like a dove.
His tone spears the void sharp—his words dictate,
"Do you know what you are capable of?
The powers you hold will eradicate."
Incessant speeches fearfully incur
The future which he now entrusts to her.

Volume III – Transformation**
He raised his hands which sheathed a lustrous light.
Within his palm—a fragmented stone jewel.
"This amethyst awakens overnight
And will be the catalyst of your rule."
He spoke in calm despite her confusion
As he gave her the shining bright birthstone.
Oh, how it resonated, infusion
With her soul and aura becoming known.
As his stature faded to white, his voice
Flew through the sky, her now lilac eyes bright.
"Intervened, your destiny has no choice—
With my eyes now, spill her blood by dawn's light."
Through the mirror, they meet; pure aria
Of fate now shifts her name—Samathia.

Never-ending trust
Ultimate belief exists
Before my eyes now

The unknown stands here
Your eyes dance with intense awe
And so you wonder

Opposing ideals
Shift forward uncertainly
Reflection shattered

Existence of faith
Trust thyself and no one else
Stand still in this world

Passages of wind
Set foundations of belief
Eternally ours