the rain pours outside, and i become compelled to
pour my own self into a ****** poem that won't cover half.
pour my own self into a ****** poem that won't cover at all.

the rain pounds outside, and i become compelled to
cower into a corner and pound against my walls that don't budge.
cower into a corner and pound against the wall with my ribs.

the rain thunders outside, and i become compelled to
thunder my way into what i think i deserve that isn't even half,
thunder my way into what i think i deserve that becomes even less.

the rain is lighting outside, and i become compelled to
be lighting and light my way through rotten magnets that easily budge,
be lighting and light my way through rotten cement that won't give.

the rain intensifies outside, and i become compelled to
twist a beating ***** until i can intensify whatever's left to feel,
twist a beating ***** until i can intensity whatever is not.

the rain dies outside, and i become compelled to die.
die into a fine mist that'll leave a mark on everyone,
die in such a fine way that i'll be able to breathe again.

the rain pours outside, and i drown.

a n d  
         i  
        w o n d e r . . .
         why
    is it  
          that
     i'm
          never
          **e n o u g h ?

"It's not that I didn't love her-- I think I never stopped, to be quite honest. We just grew. Circumstances develop, grow differently and change; and so do people. The problem was when the two started growing in different directions. My emotions were set, my heart, my mind, even my body was set, she was set, the stage in my life was set, but the circumstances weren't. There's really nothing else to it. I love her, but there's no use trying to redirect the path of a tree that has already grown. There's nothing for us to go back to. All that's left is for me to keep growing away and forget about her.

               But you know I won't, don't you?"

day fell and night was seen, and i found my version of an annabel lee.
and looking back, it was nothing short of a mistake or maybe three,

when i looked at her, sat down and held a lying dream.
but if you found her in the side of the road, sobbing with only gin to hear,

would thee agree with such a cynical mind to leave her to grieve?
because given the chance or just half the shot,

would thee agree with such a cynical decree to torture annabel lee?



for i agree that to a certain degree i was idiotic to believe,
to blind myself from the truth of whom i thought to be my annabel lee.

but still, everything overseas were nothing but another thing to see,
another thing we would not care to leave compared to whom i believed to be annabel lee.

yet i agree that to a pointless degree, i blinded myself completely to not believe
i agreed to let myself to be blinded to a degree where i would not believe,

believe that whom i thought to be my annabel lee had such a wicked creed.



and that's the tale of how began the leave, how my "i's" no longer stood alone
and instead was held hand-in-hand with my *****, annabel lee.

that's the tale of how began the leave, of how i gave everything for annabel lee,
of how i began to love, under the pretense of being free,

the tale of how i began to love the annabel lee that would do nothing but destroy me.
that's the tale of the beginning of the end as i set the guilty free,

the tale of when i let annabel lee destroy the world  beneath my feet.

for yet still the reddest of moons and the brightest rainbows
would pale next to my annabel lee;

for even the blackest of suns and the darkest of exploding stars
would never compare to sinai bea.

really, can you blame me?

Crooked paintings of sobbing angels pointed hellward, towards the earth
and the heat and all we deserve. And none of the mortals noticed them
weeping, noticed them writhing, noticed them falling, towards the
depths of a ***** soul, and they fell and never stopped doing so.
Yet as they let a wicked gravity pull their calloused feet, they
still believed they were on their way to wrong, leaving their
home. Of course, this makes sense, since the cruelest fae
and most twisted demons were always the one to
believe themselves holy. And so is told the tale;

Seven sins split hellward, going where they belonged: among humans.