I must sit while in my chest

An infinite realm there be

More, oh more, within the breast

Than awkward mortality

Minūte in its east to west

Too narrow a soul to free

Just how far from trough to crest

And here to eternity?

It is a feeling.
I become all feeling with it.
And though I have only felt it once before,
I recognize it so clearly.
Denial of it isn't even a thought.
I would be foolish to think that.
And I am no fool.
Its not a heaviness, more of a shift.
And it doesn't come slowly.
It's a snapping of twigs in the dark;
At different decibels, on all sides,
Giving away the proximity.
And I flinch with each one.
Like tiny shocks to the system.
Internal twitches.
And I suffer it for a bit.
Until I just am unable to suffer it.
And with a sort of keen guage
I know just how much wrath I will need to overtake.
To silence the twigs.
Derision yields to Decision.
And there will be no pause.
Only. Linear. Forward. Movement.
And then I start bruting myself about;
Not in an attempt to protect myself at all. No.
That motive will be thought of much later,
In a vain attempt to pardon my action.
No.
I stand up tall now... not out of fear.
But to become the threat.
To BE the aggressor.
And I desire that power
With such a fierceness,
That just injuring, will never do.
No. In that moment, I MUST destroy. Completely destroy.
And I do.
And the satisfaction I find in doing that, and in doing it so well,
Is the most dangerous thing
That darkness ever held.

It's that moment when you peel your heart
Like onion skin
And start placing the ring-like layers
In so many different places
That you realize completeness
Does not come from trying to fill space,
But rather by extending it.
It is in that moment we find God.

Feathers are used to catch a dream;
Conform-it-y defines supreme,

Hummingbirds aren't able to sing,
And paper buys you anything,

Cotton makes us more dignified;
Too many win.... who never tried,

Curios hold the China Dolls;
Art is hung in such narrow halls,

The loss of life... will hail a mass;
Beauty hides in the broken glass,

We wish upon the falling star;
Alignment tells us who we are,

Angels are made out of the snow;
We celebrate years....as they... go,

We rarely share what we should say,
And shun the bold that go their way,

Sleep is sound on a satin sheet;
We stop hearts so that we can eat,

Elements are no longer free;
High-rises sit where trees should be,

Allergies blow in with the wind;
A ditch, dug, makes the river bend,

We disregard a higher pow'r,
For satisfaction in the hour,

Virtue can't compete with pleasure;
We sacrifice all we treasure,

Joy is preferred within a jar;
We just won"t go.... if it's too far,

The easy come and go of it all,
Pardons pain after every fall.

So it should come as no surprise,
When love gives up its self and dies.