Can I
itch or scratch me away
to reveal anything
a youth
some truths
someone else
Can I
have this essence
experience and my mind
but let go all else
reduced to naked skin
made for him and his sin
Can I
hold old ideals up
on alter, unaltered
religiously revered completely
Black and dull beyond measure
just circumstantial
by birth
and disgusted
Can I
resolve that ache
and wake, new
not prisoner of body
Self-made misery
subject to looks
and wordless stares
I
stripped of me
what am I
Can I
a slightly parting mouth
closed eyes
Shut away inside
until life redirects
and time reverses
I
No longer I
Can I
have nothing else
Recollect
No recollections
I should mention
there's no family
or ugly girl
No more to see
Pecola
I
Just I
Blue eyes
like I always knew
Can I

The butcher at Ken's is a psychopath
Whom has eyes especially for one
I, intrigued, approach
and the opening of truths commence
I, indeed see ****** and revel in such
Inescapable madness of the best kind

Limbs long, dragging lazily
demeanor wavering and hazy
Your protruding hips and wrists
I devoured on sight
My mind palace holds them
to be recalled while lonely or jealous
Someone else gets to touch them
they feel the hollows of skin
and grab, or run their fingers along you
Smooth, gentle, light flutterings
Hands encasing that which lie lost
Baggy clothes, hiding you from all
My notions are innocent fascinations
I could run my hand along all of you
at least once without getting bored
I've lasted months without
I could longer, but I'm weakening
Perhaps, not even seeking another
I can wait

A man to love a man
while I am here
staking claims on all
that I do not have
I will not possess
I  abhor the thought
I rise and dress
thinking only of a mask
Sanity or brains
clever thoughts in a train
Ha ha!
and no one will tell
except those I tell
and there will be naught
I am wiser than that
until second thought

How you waver and you tilt
while you walk or move
Images flickering behind your eyes
shadows rousing from their dens
making themselves home
The center of your life
The itch to have to get it right
You could give in, but mind is will
and body as it's follower
is of no importance to you
So you lay, awake, stretched
across all the space you can take
Your bed is solitary
The last place to take freedom
and stand your ground
Laying on the comforters,
freezing, window open
to let in winter as a gift to yourself
Because you deserve something
after putting yourself through all you do