By candle is my night lit,
By you is my heart lit.
My body, incomplete,
Craves your touch.
To be touched.

To be touched.

If not the pleasure of your grip,
Then the pleasure of my own,
By my own hands.
That is all that engulfs my thoughts,
All, for my own pleasure.

I wish to give everything,
But take nothing from me...

Cannot give my all if I feel only emptiness.
Cannot help but feel such a Darkness
Within, and embrace it
For what it is.
Right or wrong, it is inevitable.

Perhaps it is life's growing pains,
Perhaps a simple infatuation.

If the first, at least there is not
A chance I could change it,
If the latter, what has caused
This monster called my mind?
So corrupt, so unrecognizable,

By pain and time.

I do not feel human, I do not
Feel anything. Except pain.
What causes blood and pain to be
The only thing that makes
My mind rest, muscles relax, and
Thoughts flow?

Still, I remain in a coma of thought.
These thoughts.

I am he,           who roams the Dark
Where fear and hate           will always lurk.
Woe to he--or to she
Who into my Dark, put thy feet.
Yet if I should like to feast,                                                           5
Where be better for this Beast
Than where the humans themselves feed?
For indeed, the key is mead.
From afar I hear the joy,
But beware, O Herot, I come to destroy.                                    10
And in my Dark, I sneak to the Hall,
Take a deep, low breath and begin to maul.
The men beneath me, too dead to challenge,
All run and scurry from their lounges.
I take no time in tiresome troubles;                                             15
I only want what my stomach rumbles.
I think not twice about whom I take;
For in the Dark, I am most awake.
If, furthermore, I find it filling,
For a forth, or a fifth round, I may be willing.                              20
When at last I am satisfied and
Look around! Warriors that hide!
No greater reward exists
Than to see my enemy in such a state
As This                                                             ­                           25

Death
In itself, is my
One true love.
Always waiting for me,
Right on time.
Perfect.
And mine.

An Icon of a Goddess
Stones of the deepest earth beset
                                          her eyes,
all the gold and fire of a hallowed earth
                                           now within,
Fiery, shy, a gaze like cold iron

A mind of Great Desire,
        timid inflection,
a clouded spirit, awaiting lightning to purge
                              a thunder
She is my alter, my temple, my heart.

With music she strikes my chest
the only reason I walk or care

I am lifeless, undying
She is my Mantra, my word, my reason

No significance
For anything, life is too short
Too, too short
All the previous lives
All the insignificance done by other mes.
Everyone, in narcissism:
The world is right here, right now. Me.
I am saying, "No!"
Whatever you do, say, love, feel...
It won't matter in 100 years.
Nothing will matter in 100 years.
Because
We were born to die.