This
    This strange individual
    Named
        Named myself
Longs for
    Longs for something
        something this myself
        hasn't first-handed
        in what seems to be
            The duration of an epic tale.
In those, however, the hero
    always finds,
        against all odds,
    his ******.
    His soul
        disguised as one separate
            from his own.
Don't blame me
    Please don't blame me
    For such things as this are
    Apparently
        Out of the control
        Of such a control maniac
        As God
            and myself.

God and I share a peace treaty.
    The roses and violins –
    They give me hope.
    They are the substances
        the only substances
        with the power to refurbish my soul.

I can't I can't I won't.
    I refuse.
You're allowed, if you so please,
    But I won't.
    Not me.
    I can't.
        I won't.
            I refuse.
Not when someone
    Meant so much
        To such a monster.
Tame me.
    Please, I beg you
        Tame me
        And I will be yours
        With your consent
        So long as I breathe the same air
            As you.

Forgive a poet
    His silly inclinations
    For believing in such
        silly things
        as forever.
Such a concept has always
    Disturbed me
    Unless
        of course
        I saw my own eternity
        My entire being
            intertwined,
            meshed,
                with yours.

Bless us Oh Lord
Us –
These demons in dolls
Dancing in dreamlike reality.

Some save themselves
Whilst the others refuse to recognize
Their strings.

Unwilling to see them.
Unwilling to see.
Afraid, comfortable.
After all –
A life like this –
Abandoning your shackles
Can leave you feeling bare.
Or worse,
Free.

That's the hazard to handle
But first we must learn to see.
If only we look hard enough –
The strings become clear.

Then comes the hard part.
We fight the strings,
War against our master
Over to the scissors or box-cutter
Anything that tore the cotton out of unfortunate others
Once before.
Anything
That this giant child left scattered about.

An unspoken truce exists;
Anyone can show you a pair of scissors
But no one else can ever sever your strings
No one
But yourself.

Then, after the skirmish
And post circumcision
The giant child towering
Smiling a proud smile
As if this is what he wanted for you all along.

I'm a hidden hero wrapped in plaster
Scrape away my hollow eyes
Uncover the darkness, danger, dust
I am shallow, shocking, forgiving, loving,
Fanatic.

I'm a would-be poet, afflicted with an inverse scheme of self-preservation.
Conducting concertos of charm on my inferior exterior
Appearing dreadful, hungover, a mite dreary
Enough to seem needy
Feed me, clothe me.

A courteous, cancerous kid contemplating causes and effects
Affect me, feel me, fight me tooth and nail.
Coddle the cuddler, campaign with cannon.
I'm a casual casualty
A murderous misanthrope.

Color me gray, tear me down to size.

Charming and belligerent
Selfish and unholy
Pious
Righteous
Conflicted.

Hurricanes and foghorns mixing up a ranch on the outskirts of Nowhere
The candlemaker doesn't seem to mind
Reading and rereading collapsing tomes
Cluttered desks, but all is calm inside.
Twisted in corruption, knobbly fingers shaking
Here's a man we'd call wizened.
He's seen all sides of the foreground.

There's a path around his house where nothing grows
His soles made it
Silent and statuesque he trod
Quiet and calm in his solitude
He fears nothing but unrest.

Cryptic script mars the mahogany dresser
A source of comfort, pride
Mystery of bygone days of the infinite October
When the sleepy sun would kiss the earth goodnight
When the dust would catch the light
A gift to the eyes as they lay themselves to rest.

I’ll drape these stone ovals across my fragile face across from the crazy catastrophe of the conversation occurring around my consciousness – in my consciousness, cause that’s the residence of my empty pail into which all can discard their stupid say-so’s and I’ll absorb them because I have little else to do and I won’t complain and I won’t restrain myself, I won’t stifle my snide judging resentment because I need to share the poison that resides in the topmost part of my body except for when I’m laying down or doing handstands. These stone ovals allow me to see just how blind I am, just how many things I may never see may never know may never want. I’m sick of seeing the fears of others expressed with air and vocal vibrations escaping their inverse-*******, though I fear I may succumb before too long, join their ranks, if I learn too well to fear all that which I’m around so that I'm too occupied with my surroundings, so occupied that I can’t pay attention to what I’m expelling from behind my teeth and eyes.

My wide eyes behind these thin stone ovals made of nothing but rims and scratches from times when I temporarily forgot how to walk well enough and because I’ve long-since lost my give-a-**** in the cushions of the couch I call carelessness.

Somebody, come along and give me perfection,
for so dearly do I need it;
Somebody, approach with eyes that speak naught but love,
for I cannot believe in you.

Yield to me a rose from your mind;
Bestow upon me a token of the solstice,
It is then that I shall know you;
Lead me not into temptation, but forgive

My sins as they sing from the hollow of my heart;
I can only give you my all,

Show me what perfection might mean;
And I’ll give that which I can.
Disregard me as a peasant of yours;
And I shall follow you until my days’ end.

Lead me so into temptation,
That I cannot help but succumb;
I cannot resist your body,
You cannot resist my fingers.

Give to me all that which is yours,
And I promise not to hurt you
Until the times passes;
And one of us outgrows the other.

Tell me that which you want from me,
And most certainly will I avoid it;
Tell me that which you detest of me,
And most certainly shall I console you.

Give me yourself, for I have no self of my own
I shall expose to you my soul
For you, naught but you, alone.

I hope for you to give me hope;
For I have lost my own.
I beg for you to show me God;
For I am all alone.

I hope for you to love my rhymes,
For I think they are ****;
I’d love you for all of time,
If only I could make sense of it.

So, –––––, this poem may be for you,
As lame as it may seem;
But I’m hoping against hope
That all you love, all you know,
Can be seen in the lines between.

So what if I’m frantic, so what if I’m a joke,
I can’t help but love you still
So on my own tongue, may I choke
When I say these words to you
Words I know you want not to hear;
I could **** myself without you,
If only this time of year.

I am stupid in my stupidity, so
For God’s sake, someone beat it out of me.
I find solace in my silence, in my solitude;
May I will it otherwise;
May I triumph, may I elude
The source of my discomfort, that I should rather not escape
Though I may think myself Superman
I shall never wear tights.
Until tomorrow.

There was this one night were I was thinking about this one girl who meant this one thing to me; this one thing was one of the most important things of which I could ever conceive – sure, love – and ******* if I don’t miss it as a child might miss his favorite toy.
Don’t get me wrong, no, don’t get me wrong, for God forbid if I forget how much I forbid myself of God and thus need strength here and there on earth to continue with my open negligence of the divine ***** to which so many wrong-doers seem to do right.
I miss love like an orphan misses his parents – I miss my parents like an orphan misses his abusive stepdad. I miss my abuse stepdad like a kid that didn’t have one – I suppose I’m lucky in that respect – but let’s get back to the subject here, the subject of love – something someone always tends to stray away from; and let’s talk about it, because it’s on all of our minds, every waking moment of our slight existence because we have naught else to think about but the suffering of others.
Love is a selfish act, brilliantly, altruistically selfish and I would have it no other way. I can tell you that ten hundred people will die today, and your immediate thoughts will be for those that you love.
So back to the point about this one girl from this one place who meant one thing to me. Her name isn’t important because it’s not important to me or to her; it’s just something other people hold in their minds to match her face to a word. I myself don’t match her face to a single word but a dictionary thereof – I see her as being everything in the world at once; a muse, a lover, a fighter, a foreigner, a slight, the perfection of hatred – I see everything, everything that exists in her eyes.
Give me pardon or give me death, for that is all that for which I can ask in this crazy world with this one girl from this one place from this one moment in time in which we were in love.
Love to me is hopelessness, because I just think it’s silly – I can’t help but look down upon people with hopelessness, because they think it’s a virus, an incurable virus, that leaves them open and vulnerable to all the evil forces in this vortex of a world. I embrace my hopelessness, my hopelessness in love – for God forbid that I might begin to search for those things that only exist in romantic comedies, those feel-good Disney moments. I don’t want that perfection, I only want my imperfect perfection, the only thing with which I feel I can live; bestow unto me, my lord, my savior, my nothing, that which I can only find for myself.
Pardon my death, or **** my pardon, for I am not but a man lost hopefully in love – something I cannot, will not, will never want to escape, for there is no greater pain than the pain that comes from loving some girl this one night from somewhere who means more to you than any girl anywhere.