even augustine could dream--
of freedom, women, men?
and god, salvation
of the fittest--
nevermind the terror of the night

It’s a vital red
A scorpion’s sting
A piercing and
Unending scream
It ripped apart the
Heart of me
And still it
Goes on running

But if there is no God,
who will I be angry at?

It's my own
That can't be of others
It's my own
Where I can live in peace
It's my own
That no one can purchase
It's my own
From where I can decide
My destination
It's my own
That no one can drag from me
Oh! My death bed
I love you the most.

I love the color Red.
Mostly, when it spreads across my mouth
When I bite myself hard enough.
I wince to draw blood for comfort,
Keeping my mind from racing too much.

I can’t get enough of it I confess.
The splash of crimson red
Compliments the tone of my skin.
Makes my face seem less
Pale I suppose.

As painful as it is,
It slows the raging beats of my heart.
Makes the pressure dissipate for a second.

Serenity is in the metallic taste
That I crave like morphine
To a drug addict

a desire to erase,
to stay away forever.

an opportunity to transfigure,
to sit on the floor and wait for storms.

a line to cross, a lion at dusk,
a catastrophist.

a pen filled with acid,
a book of theories full of holes.

once this begins, there are only endings.