1.  You are the one that I love wholeheartedly.
2.  I struggle knowing that you are lonely.
3.  I know that when I look at you, I forget to breathe.
4.  If only I could mirror such beauty.

Too late.

At the moment of death
Might the victim look upon
The Killer's face finding there
An Angels love, in eyes of mercy?
Feeling joy perhaps, as last breath
Resulting by acts carried out prior?
Perhaps upon the escaping breath,
Whispered from dead lips then
Translated by the only ears to hear
Is joy, understanding and greatfulness
To a mind of the psychopath?

So suddenly, certainly, the certainty
Itself, as it was does seem to vanish.
It had been... Had it not?.. Been.
Real as the hidden clauses, was it not love?
Contingent upon unfaultered perfection, love offered
Promises given, whispered and offered in acts and,
In written words poetically dedicated and surrendered.
Known to be as it holds a cadence it, this, unspoken unobtainable and loafty demand that nothing less,
No hint of weakness or need of any but your own be shown.
At pain of loss, at loss of stature and withdrawal of unproven unconditional love whispered across those infuriatingly
And unforgettable lips I know I do and will and forever still promise to, try after, cry over forever to fail for, you, yours, our love. As I know no want no need, no other will be mine, as it seems neither are or will yours be mine... Love.
As human and imperfect and made of lesser things than the stone you desire, I am destined to fail, every attempt I make at being perfect.

Right now, hesitant
Barely able to remember
Back and forth
This inner debate goes
Who is losing
What is the point of winning
I simply struggle
These thoughts of mine
Epiphanies, life changing
If I could only make tangible
Cause when I think
It seems clouds are my thoughts
Brought down briefly
Before drifting away once more
To play and my head leads the way.

I am one that can be selfish
Lost in my heart, made of thought
Strung, twisted and knotted
Pulled, drawn tight inward
That in itself, is a little different.

Seeking, feeling about
The notion of being able
only to be, one who is
I have no grasp as of yet
as to how, Why
I'm in the world made through vision
my life, my doing?
I struggle to communicate
This isolated voice within
With no reason
other than to be alone,
no more a good life  
I know I am of countless
But I speak alone
Hear no one as they too
Are bound within fleshly prisons.