aloneness
   wonderful desperation

   spoke changing language,
pulled mask,
                        revelations

bedroom--where

  Mind
      becomes
  
      dangerous

perpetually
         haunted

writing    
      waiting,
                       listening.

poems--are
indeterminate
analysis questions
giving purpose
to existing.

his words hung in the air
like windchimes
after a storm.

take my voice and set it on fire because
i will not stop
you have built yourself up so high that to
come down now would be an admission
of your simplicity, ignorance and intolerance
that you hold above your head as a torch
convinced you are a gift from the gods
but you have been using our hearts as bricks for your castle  
and when that moon falls out of the sky
we are all going to the same ground
and only then
will i finally bite my tongue

my limits were pressed
first, lightly,
as flowers between the pages of an old book
then forcefully, as it shuts

there is no entirely benevolent being:
god, must know, suffering.
he placed us here, knowing
that our capacity for feeling was not
as it should be

there is no plan, destiny, reason
just another layer of purgatory
just hearts that crush too easily
just monsters that look, and sound, like men