i see you in the silence
and the blanks of
mind. crazy how violence
says more about love
and its power. the contrast
is fading unlike your
eyebrows, and the last
drop of sanity hits the floor.
thoughts of you as
your actual presence,
because your absence has
finished its evanescence.

i always romanticize
those past moments of
what i believe was
untainted happiness
because i am stuck in
the discontent of the
present moment, but
i'm always discontent
in the present moment
because i romanticize
those past moments
of what i believe was
untainted happiness.
i try to take life by the
throat but i don't have
the energy, and i don't
have the energy because i
have been trying to
take life by the throat.

i'm stuck in a cycle.
i am a fallen creature
and no amount of
effort or escape will
ever change the fact
of my dissatisfaction

but maybe i need
to give up and
accept that i am
dissatisfied, then
and maybe then
will i become
satisfied.

we are all plagued by the same
haunting disease.
every step on this wearied road
is just a step in our prison.
esoteric dreams of unchanging bliss
are humanity's liturgy.
the only steadfast thing in
this oxymoronic world is
dissatisfaction.
we are foundering in it,
wishing to drown already.
the romantics looked
to love,
now we look
to apathy;
but this prison
has no escape,
except death.
so we fell in
love
with the grim,
when fantasy
failed us.
now we sit here,
entranced with the mud but
dreaming of beaches.
meaningless,
meaningless,
meaningless.
we are the living dead.

is it satisfaction?
is it ethereal?
is it worth it?
is it lasting?
is it filling?
is it love?
is it her?
is it?

how can i be sure?
how can i know?
how can i?

am i always dissatisfied?
am i alway despaired?
am i always fallen?
am i always?

we all have the same disease.
we all have the same death.
we all have the same holes.
we all have the same.

is love its provider?
is love its vaccine?
is love its?

time will tell,
just need a little faith.

bruised knuckles on aphrodite.
beating fear in the pawn of love.
candle wicks bloom in the heart of the mighty.

guillotine lips whisper the call of the dove.
casted wings of beauty melt.
when asked to care, angelic shoulders shrug.

gasoline of her words--heartfelt--
poured onto my pyre.
these flames, before her knelt.

beauty that scalds those who touch its fire.
human nature made it a liar.

heated flavors and
icy noises, up in the
high strata with
a singed mind of
transcendent swallowed thoughts
your molting feathers
fall down to the cobble stones
proclaiming the words
of your mind
up in this planetarium of
a passing breeze
you replace the stars
with gleaming clumps
of barb wire and broken wings
that rattle through the night
screeching frequencies
of your lost-in-precipitation mind
you see the dreams
of the masses
devoured by green,
which clash with
the medley of floral souls
within your grey matter
you breathe out a brink-filled
sigh of infinite--
all those emotional droplets
in that spiderweb mind.
perhaps one day
they will see with your eyes
or even the eyes of your eyes
but for now you are stuck
shouting at them to love
a love greater than that of Lady Black herself
but their ears are stopped up
with the spoon-fed lies of how
to live and they settle for
contentment, and not
passion

A spider clearly defines its web-
Interlacing moments of divinity.
Music between its fingertips,
A symphony.
It smiles, bearing fangs,
Yet a sweet picture,
Catastrophe.

I heard a bird sing.
But was he really singing,
Or was he just lonely?
Calling out for a friend,
A mate,
Somebody,
Anybody
To pass the time away.

If I could catch all the tears I've cried in a pitcher,
I would rain them down,
Drown a river in my sorrow.
Drown my sorrow in a river?
What's the difference? Life is only borrowed, anyways.