If I tell you you are my sun and stars,
it is only because you stole them from my
sky and draped them over your shoulders
like a fur pelt apathetically ripped
from a now naked and ****** bear.
If I say you are my moon and dreams,
it is only because you greedily plucked
it from my eye and strung it up with that
chain around your neck, so that it can
light the vile back alleys of my nightmares.
If I tell you that you are my beating heart,
it is only because you hammered and
twisted until it fit comfortably
around your finger so I wouldn't know
the beating of it without your hand.
If I say you are my errant soul,
it is only because you crushed and
ground until only fine powder remained
and brushed it below your brow so I wouldn't
know it's pull without looking to your eyes.
If I ask why you took my being and vanished,
it is only to try to make you think.
I already know the answer.

Sometimes I sit down to write,
and realize that it's such a plight.
But I can't stop for tears to leak,
'cause my assignment's due this week.
It isn't easy, that's a fact,
to make lines rhyme with metered tact.
So hopefully my luck runs thick,
'cause sometimes writing make me sick.

Now and then I like to look in the mirror and pretend there's no reflection.
Pretend that there is no existence and no possibility for the imperfection
that haunts that slab of float glass and aluminum daily.
Now and then I like to stand in front of the mirror and close my eyes.
That way I can ignore what is dulling the bright surface and synthesize
an image on my eyelids that doesn't hang so stale.
Now and then I like to draw on my mirror until no space is left but eye holes.
Then I can keep my eyes open but still be disillusioned as to how my soles
have become hopelessly glued to this tile mausoleum.
But most of the time I just turn out the lights.

When I found you, I hated you.
Now I understand you.

I gave you reason to cast me out:
veil of spite, cloak of confused fear--

As I come to know what makes you tick
I respect you as deserved.
Your violence should have been presented by now,
not restrained and checked,
silent caged bird--

I envy you and your unshakable faith,
resolve of the stubborn gods,
drive of  the hungry wolf--
you deserve more, than the
awful posture of your peers.

Whatever you do,
you will not fail to find yourself,
among the triumphant titans.
Your effort is not lacking like ours:

your heart is the rising sun
which teaches and inspires in magnificence--
which teaches and inspires, in us echoing
this stimulation from awakened mind
to kindled soul.

Gently
Brush hair
Behind ear.

Reveal
Soft cheek,
Tender neck.

Glances
Growing
Intimate.

Subtle
Gestures
Inviting.

Informed
Of wants,
Desires.

Taken
Within
The moment.

******
Impairs
Shared breathing.

Spent and
Fulfilled
Intertwine.

Is it surprising that I should walk through the valley where shadow and death and life and light can no longer touch me? Do you think I have any soul left? Any you did not take when ripping the anchors clean? I hope they didn’t slow you down. The pieces I  mean, when tearing away. At least I froze the pain away, on your icy trail. Take me for granted and toss me aside. One more time, just once. Even if I’ll die in the end. Used is better than alone. This time the journey is of no consequence. Only the end. Oblivion. I wish your cup to be full, overflowing with joy, so there’s something to turn to ash in your mouth beside those ******* words you’d say to me. Those ******* words I’ll never forget. Fear comes no longer from self preservation, but the lack thereof. Myself couldn’t keep afloat in a kiddie pool. Drowning in inches, like the insects all over me. What good is existence with no means to live? My means left, preceding your footsteps, echoing away, rattling in the chamber where my faith used to be.

I never thought you'd be the one to see me clearly in that light.
Now you know the cracks, crevices.
Imperfections.
Ugly.
****...
You know...
It's not so bad!
I promise you'll barely notice!
In the darkness you'll no longer see my nightmarish silhouette.
Unless you can't forget, like them.
You can't unsee.
Go then.
Leave.
Forget.
Not the image.
Just the voice you came to long for.
And the touch you now so callously drive away back to shadow.