Where the image of tearing my veins to shreds plays over and over.
This broken record of ****** drowning.

How do you expect me sleep
With you circling every thought.

Like the leaves of autumn,
You're everywhere I walk.

And stepping on these leaves of yours
Produces my favorite sound.

Tonight that sound is too loud to sleep through.

I can't capture these emotions with words.

I feel like I could kiss you,
And my lips wouldn't feel like ice or mercury or death. Rather...

Warmth.
Not the kind of warmth you feel with a new pair of wool socks.

The kind of warmth you feel when your 6 foot 6 football-playing-friend embraces you like a lovable toothpick after his workout.
Where the sweat drips on your cheeks and forehead, and your legs lift off the ground and you know he truly loves you as a friend.

It's more that kind of love.
But still not quite.



The kind of warmth you feel when everyone is asleep and you're sitting in the darkness alone, dozens of miles from settlement, and you've kept the campfire going. The sun is starting to rise, you can see the blue in the sky. The heavy blanket around your body has protected you from the piercing cold. And you hear that zipper of the tent come undone and you see the white of a smile.

That kind of warmth.

Wine from two jugs tastes as good as from one.

The strings of a harp vibrate independently to sing the same song.

The Oak and the Cypress cannot grow in each other's shade.

And the pillars of a temple must be separated to hold the weight above them.

To understate,
You are a seed,
The beginning of a tree.

You will grow and you will blossom,
And you will bear fruit and leaves.

So what am I.

The picker of fruit?
Spreader of pollen?
Maybe a tree, a bush?

You can,
And will
Exist without me.

This is an understatement.

Rather, you are a red giant,
A star ready to blow, expand.

Supernova.

Space-dust.
The elements for life.

I can feel it.
There's something.
Or nothing. But it's there.
I can feel the hatred.
Or rather I can feel the hated.
I only feel the hated.