Sometimes
The words pour out
A beautiful symphony
Letters entwine my skull
Choke me with their simple
Elegance
Some see it as writing
I see it as
A beautiful death
A necessary one.

But other times
The emptiness is what
Overwhelms me
The profound absence
Of ink on paper
The maddening sensation
Of paralysis
Grips me
As my gentle fingers
Shake
Helpless and
Longing.

Flighty
Choppy
Pieces and parts
They never come together
Quite right

Like a puzzle
Missing all of its pieces
Was it even a puzzle to begin with?

You cannot make something
Out of nothing.

Sleep is only a haven
For those having something
To escape in their
Waking hours.

Cold sweat,
Jolting shock
Body wrenching
Soul crying out
For internal relief

The angel holds you
In her tired grip

Half dead
Half awake
Between two worlds
Pick your poison.

Restful restlessness
Peaceful horror
Stable madness

Freedom from all others
Trapped within
One's self.

Lately, whenever I'm about to fall asleep,
an inexplicable
and outrageous surge
of unfathomable dread
creeps into my being
and ruptures my peace.

It sends shivers down my spine
and makes my skin crawl.

This dread invades my soul at the same time each night,
mere seconds before I begin my calm respite
by retreating into my dreams.

I fear the moment this dread comes alive,
but not because of the possibility
of never waking up again.

Rather, I fear it
because of the possibility
of waking up
in a world without you.

I woke up today
and I felt
extremely
out of place.

I looked around
and everything was the same,
leading me to believe
that I was out of my mind.

but I knew I wasn't.

I walked around my home slowly,
fingers gliding across the newly painted walls
and clasping onto frozen metal of door handles,
then drumming against the
darkened mahogany of the kitchen table
trying to figure out
what was missing.

What was missing?

I was there,
so that wasn't missing.

My wallet was there,
so that wasn't missing.

My coat was there,
so that wasn't missing.

My car was outside,
so that wasn't missing.

My keys were by the door,
so that wasn't missing.

I looked again.

Your keys weren't there,
so that was missing.

Your car wasn't there,
so that was missing.

Your coat wasn't there,
so that was missing.

Your wallet wasn't there,
so that was missing.

Ah, yes.
That's right.

You.

It was you.

You were missing.

It's funny, because every morning
I wake up feeling
extremely
out of place.

And every morning, I look around
and see that everything is the same,
leading me to believe
that I'm out of my mind.

And every morning, I tell myself
that I'm not.

But I know I am.

Because every morning, I walk around my home,
looking for you.

Even though I know
that you're what's missing.

Maybe I should just
leave some notes around the house
reminding myself
that you're what's missing.

Better yet, maybe I should just
leave some notes around the house
reminding myself
that you're never coming back.

I think about you.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people think about you.

I care about you.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people care about you.

I enjoy spending time with you.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people enjoy spending time with you.

I look forward to interacting with you.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people look forward to interacting with you.

I feel at ease when I talk to you.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people feel at ease when they talk to you.

I find your beauty astonishing.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people find your beauty astonishing.

I think you'll lead a worthwhile life.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people think you'll lead a worthwhile life.

I can't help but feel that your existence is crucial to my own.
That's nothing special, though.
Plenty of people feel that your existence is crucial to their own.

Thus, my affinity for you isn't anything special.
Or, at least, that's what I like to tell myself.
Because that makes dealing with the truth
so much easier.

There's nothing here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me think to myself.

There's no thought here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me question reality.

There's no reality here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me look forward to the future.

There's no future here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes my past seem worth the effort.

There's no effort here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me believe either side has anything going for it.

There's no belief here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes it all understandable, righteous, reasonable.

There's no reason here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes any of this make sense.

There's no wrong,
there's no right,
there's no up,
there's no down.

All there is
is me.
In the middle,
unaffected.

Forgotten in the lust of the moment
His memories dissipate in the warmth of her movements
Her swaying curves encompass his mind
And her heated breaths eradicate his conscience

Her whispers illustrate his inner thoughts as she bares her skin
While his hands ambitiously caress her natural self
Recalling betrayal, his grip on her vices tightly for an instant in time
As she sensually digs her lips and teeth into his neck

The lights dance with feverish passion in their ambivalent escapade
As his memories ignite into a collective blaze of clouded lies
Her voice breaks the atmosphere with a powered summoning of excitement
While the bladed steel in his back pocket speaks to him briefly

Frozen like ice, the edged iron derails his controlled contemplation
Heated like flame, her crimson lips reassuringly invite his aged soul into her dimension of hellfire
Confliction between two halves disperse the balance within his plane of existence
Differing feelings unable to become one

Failure to merge two views of life
Alongside inability to accept separation of what was once whole
Leads to an amalgam of bewilderment and hatred deep inside the darkest corners of deception
The triggered fuse detonates inappropriately with his free hand now attached to the hilt of silver

Shadowed recollections of the others' tears invoke his fury with every stab
Purest inhibitions of hidden urges shatter sustained reality with every slice
Broken trust of ill-fated bonds reverse his mentality with every gush of blood
Tainted sight of misperceived intentions annihilate his reasoning with every anguished scream of her voice

Collapsed, her distorted body lay lifeless and unrecognizable on the carpet floor of the room
Scarlet liquid of distilled life now dripping menacingly from the edges of his manifested insanity
Hazy emotions interrupt his logic as he stumbles away from the scene he attempted to avoid
While erroneously dropping the reddened murderer to the floor with a crash