My life is crumbling, burning to ashes.
My parents abuse me, more inside and out, so they can't see the lashes.
I just lay here and wonder, when will this end, this earthly hell?
And I stumble on, as troubles and trials come at me pell-mell.
Me and my friends, we're dying, it's true, being attacked by monsters both old and new.

But we haven't lost our happiness, that one spark of youth, even though it may be a little uncouth.







©2015
Rex Forté

to my darling who feels she's not:
our separation is mere illusion.
truly, your pain strikes me as i write this;
your sensations of abandonment,
and the decisiveness they have caused,
bleed from my skin into the fibers of my clothes.
i am no longer clean.
i do not feel pure.

to my severed arm and shortened tendons:
destruction is merely another side of life.
out of disappearance comes all things-
without space, there would be nothing to contain us,
nothing to allow and enfold our beings' spirits,
and they would sputter and cease like my love's flame.
i am no longer yours.
i do not feel full.

to the farthest star that my eyes can see:
your light reaches me- i glimpse you!
in the perceived emptiness between us
there is no distance to be found;
around us exists the infinite potential for
further connection and deeper growth in closeness.
i am no longer alone.
i do not feel sorrow.

The answers that you dig for are not inside your *wrist.