Go ahead
hold me a little longer
than usual.
You say to me,
without using any
words at all,
"it should have been me,
its still me."
Like i don't already see
those sky blue eyes
every time i close my own.
Because we're still holding
on to god knows what.
Because it is you
and it will always be you.

but calm nights like tonight makes me fear what tomorrow might bring.

Why does it always feel like
no one's listening
when I talk?

i hate my mind sometimes,
most of the time,
and almost every time.

it's 3am —
and the only demons alive
are those inside my mind

I am filth embodied,
spending my time
communing with mold and cockroaches,
spending my time
sitting in filth
because filth is home.

I do not feel *****
I feel just fine.
There's month old dishes in the shower,
rot in the fridge,
toenails on the table.
And it is home.

Filth is not good or bad.
Love is not ***** or pure,
it is two naked figures in front of a grimy mirror
marveling at their comfort.

I will take you deep inside of myself.
From the tips of my fingers
to the metal in my bones.
From the ends of my unkempt hair
to the most primal facet of my reptilian brain.

You who have seen the world for what it is
and not run away.
You who see the world for what it is
yet smile in the wind and the sun.
Show me the world in which we live
and I will show you the home I forged in hiding;
it is not spectacular or brilliant
but it is a home few have ever known.

I will take you deep inside of myself
and show you everything
so long as you hold my hands and heart
and tell me what it all means.
What it means to be a cynic and a lover,
a stoic and a lion.

I'm not sure if anyone
I have ever loved
ever truly
understood or felt
the awful things that I think
and feel.

The sadness
The mania
The nights alone
on the bathroom floor or the ***** carpet
tearing into myself
because the blood kept me sane.
That curious yearning for death
that I've carried with me
for all those years now.

Not sure if anyone I've ever known
has ever seen the emptiness in my eyes
without standing in horror at their reflection
staring back at them

I do not know, maybe they have.
This is quite possible.

But Stay,
or (perhaps) but Soft!
or but any of those other decrees of feeling
from those sad protagonists
whose tragic lives came before me,
saying "What light yonder…"
before falling into the arms
of the only person in the world
who came piece them together.

But Still, my lover,
your hand
in my hand
is the only anchor I can rely on
in this Dread with 5 Acts
and no intermission.

There are beautiful words in my mind
aching to inform you
of my admiration towards your heart,
my longing for your lips
of the beauty in the fragile lines of your palm.

So many things to be said
about you and about us.

But if my mind is a pen
and you are the ink
I suppose that
there isn't much to be said
after all.
Because your silence is
beyond-noticeable
and my weariness is
growinggreater.

And those words are fading
with every quiet night
when you aren't here
and the phone won't ring.

I would give you the world
Were it not a plague
I would give you my heart
Were it not fading away