Masochism is my favorite way to love; I adore deeply the one that is eager to leave me in the dust for his superficial passions. I cry infinitely as the rain over the Pacific, but it does not storm. It only blinds me with stinging tears that make a shore invisible. I had you wrapped around my finger, and you slipped off like an oversized ring, falling between the spaces of a gutter to travel sewers of risk; rank with the smell of doubt and returning loneliness. I travel these sewers barefoot with your risks up to my ankles, searching for you, my ring, dress hiked up to run as if you hadn't already seen such exposed leg. But only I splash. My lover is elusive. When he trembles in anger, he comes to me; when I tremble, he only flees. He does not understand his debts. I do, only I don't wish that he pay. My kindness is self-mutulation, for I know he will not appreciate my generosity. I think of him while he daydreams of riches and soaks in his wanderlust. I am simply a piece, a fragment, a speck of dust swimming among many in a ray of sunlight. I am not something he truly wishes to strive for. This murders me, and smashes my already broken heart into smaller, sharper pieces that seem harmless, but develop greater capacity to cut flesh.

I'm not asking for
A soulmate.

The last thing
My soul needs
Is another piece to carry.

But if you ever
Want to hitch a ride
I'll scoot over.

You can sit
Next to Pain
And roll the windows down,

For once again
My chest
Is on fire

You were the last person
I thought
Would put a hammer to my soul;

and the first person I thought
That would close
The hole.

The kissing, the stares.
The stroking of hair.
All transparent; but placed with care.

You say you still love me,
And I don't know how.
Why didn't you love me then
Instead of now?

I was in love,
And you were out.
You dealt your blow
Now you come about?

Picking, and digging
For treasures once walked over?

Caressing my heart like it is glass,
When it is in shards;

Cut your fingers
on the remnants
Of your actions;

You won't feel a fraction
Of the wound
Between my ribs.

I didn't know
You weren't happy.
I had no idea

Until I saw
The star in your eye
disappear,

Your dimples get shallow
and the creases around your eyes
fade with your smile.

I have tried so hard
To be the water
Warming you in the shower.

But now I can see,
I am burning
your skin.

Sitting at the table
She appeared as a boquet
Of roses, ****** red.

He can smell her scent
Admire the beauty
Brush his hand upon her head.

Although she blooms
And her stems are ripe
She feeds on only pain.

So on this flower,
Thorns cut smart,
And through his soul they slain.

Gaping holes
Fill my soul
And make my heart a sponge.

It only absorbs
The painful water
And filters out the love.

My tears are fresh,
The blankets cold,
And now my warmth is gone.

I sit and listen
To silent weeping
That plays the night a song.

The opened heart
That threatens to flee
Is begging and pleading to close.

Still, it cannot;
The key was stolen
By the lover I chose.

The owl at the glass
Perching
Says "who."

Time and time again
I tell him
It's you.