When lust at last imposes in the heart,
It sets ablaze the ground and smokes the mind,
And no compelling order to depart,
Can separate the soul from thoughts that bind.

For when lust's made its great impassioned catch,
Its hold outweighs the best escaping skills,
Its talon's grip's a solid iron latch,
And won't release until its aim's fulfilled.

The lustful man deliberately will go,
Ignoring will to do what lust must do,
Where talons only **** him to and fro,
Ignoring moral peace which he once knew.

And when the lust has finished with a scream,
The weakness seems was only but a dream.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

I believe
when it all boils down to it
the majority of us
would rather have nothing
with someone
than everything
with no one.

"We'll" I said before slowly hitting the burning joint I held clenched between my scared and calloused finger tips.
"I my dear am a friend of the cold",I exhaled and enveloped her heart shaped face within the cloud.
Her eyes squinted against the smoke but never left my face.
"You can call me akin to the empty.A first cousin to the cold and
uncomfortable wetness."
I ran my wrist under my runny nose and smiled.
I scratched the stubble along my chin and smiled.
The dope was always good at this time of year,I was high and the wind was warm.
Almost as warm as the opiated blood that raced throughout my tired pain free body.
She stared at me and waited on a word,a line of some false greatness to fog her mind a little more.
She blinked once and only once and with that movement in time I felt a little bad about who I was and why I was here.
I quickly recovered as I always have and filled her line of sight with a forced smile and a lazy eye brow raise.
"But be that as I may be,I am indeed in love with the warmth."
I said to her and watched her o shaped lips break into a smile.
"I like the warmth too "she said, her grey eyes now filled with hope.
"I know you do darling",I said then reached my hand out and rested it on her bony shoulder.
I managed to bring forth another smile from a place deep beneath all of what I used to be,and when I did she smiled with me.But in this version of reality she was truly smiling alone as I stood and wore the deep lines of falseness across my face.
"I know you do sweetheart",I said again attempting to sound like some type of sick caring father
"I know you do ....."

is just a word used
to describe me.
You don’t look
long enough at me to really
see though.

I didn’t laugh when I realized
what I was.
It wasn’t new, I knew
how my mind worked.
The word wasn’t new either.
Just the label of being a
psychopath.

The insanity of my sanity
has long since made me
comfortable relaxed amused by my
wild
untamable
uncaring traits.

Who I am
what I am-
it taunts me so dearly,
never leaving my mind.

Resting in the crooks
corners
nooks
that my mind has available.

today I saw a machine that can make human skin as if it was printing paper
and I thought about covering myself with new skin
just to see if it didn't hurt as bad
if I hid my scars a little better
today I was in so much pain I felt sick
and when you left I felt like crying
a boy died today
and I am speaking out loud
with a voice that sounds like broken glass
whenever I am alone I talk as if I don't have enough air
the voice in my head sounds the same
I talk about drowning a lot
but I don't know how else to describe the feeling of not being able to breathe
while I am taking in air
my body is pulsing because I have too many memories
and no one understands
I am so alone here
maybe that machine can make me better
maybe all I need is new skin
I love my body
but it doesn't seem like it loves me sometimes
it is keeping me alive
but I don't want to be
I have to keep reminding myself that I am not a parasite
I am a human
and I deserve to be
but no one ever listens to me anyway
not even myself

my lungs breathe without convincing
so why do I have such a problem getting off the floor
remind me
remind me
remind me to live

an anesthesia as quiet as

mustard gas
with it's creeping cloud passing through barbed wire with a magnificent yellow intangibility;
slow-moving and inevitable, unavoidable, and deathly--
--it's silent stalking is the breath of the Holy Ghost.

an anesthesia as visible as*

a mute scream
from the cracked beaks of all-black birds as they *croak outside the thin, thin, thin, panes;
birds ruffling and rustling like reptiles that knew better
and beat the game that the mammals never tried.

Pressing, muffling, a heat so harsh and deep I wake from my sleep, running away from the pull of a endless dark tide. So dark the breaks cannot be seen in the black gulf. I am haunted.

I am haunted.
I am haunted.

I cannot sleep, I cannot dream. There is no rub--all folly and hubris brings the death knell.

Where is the source?
To whom must I kneel?

I can feel are my bruised knees from falling prey to false idols,
                   but all I can hear are the creaking ropes of hung robbers.

I forget that my brain does not do __ when it should do __ and I slip under the coat of choking mustard gas that ***** the moisture from my lungs and eyes. A mustard seed of effort, small and yellow, cracked with no seeming dreaming thing of an eye has fallen like Hansel's crumbs from my hand and is buried with all my ambitions and dead dogs in the cold ground.

I hope it grows a kingdom of heaven, but prayers are wasted when they come from the wonton--and wayward kin of sinners who lead false farces and bring gluttony to dinner. I waste and want and cannot speak the language of those around me while we all whine and dine and **** and cackle

oh god
trite *******
*******
******* ******* ******* *******

I am not tired, I am bored, I am bored of lying and trying. Trying is the worst, and there is little reward for the cost of my dismemberment of ego.

Where is a pre-made empire for me when I need it? I should be handed down something, I cannot earn it on my own. I am a ruler, not a conquerer. I am a spectator, not an athlete. My narcissism cannot take the trying effort of building something of my own with feeble rewards and now I will die alone. Maybe. Maybe it's all hyperbolic.

I'm gonna say it. *******, I'll say it.
"**** it, how will I ever get out of this labyrinth?"