Some days, most days
i could do without my head
cut it off before i drown
suffocation is a slow way to go
living in the vast oceans of what has pass'd
         wars fought, battles lost
         the history that once was
written out, Morse code in my mind
    thunderous sounds of sinking ships
dots & dashes deafening, it never ceases to exist
.... . .-.. .--. help, sinking fast
   i'll show you the frost that killed the posies
  it remains intact like the iceberg that sank the titanic
    it drips enough to drown the opposing stroke'rs
      spaces between the echoes of a soul saved
        breathless, pleading for air before the third time
          waiting patiently for my three dots & a dash...

**** it off,
like a dog,
wasted and grey.

No more use,
just refuse,
to let it in.

It cries all night,
it begs for life,
took it away.

Keep it caged,
locked away,
from the girl.

She will scratch,
want it back,
what's hers is yours.

Dangle it high,
towards the sky,
above her head.

Make her fight,
make her cry,
make her beg.

Then throw it up,
take the gun,
and end it.

Let me tell a story about how to be crazy.

So its 3 AM.
You're dreaming in the past, but wide awake. Stomach unsettled, tears rolling down face. Its been forever. Months. Coming on a year. Maybe more. You've been here before. All alone. Various locations and times in your life, but all the same result. You cared about someone more than you thought you could care for anything, and they deserted you, turned their back on you, or decided to hate you. Parents, brother, sister, maybe best friends, or this time the love of your life. That person you found yourself infinitely happy with, who you never thought would leave your side. You question now for the ten thousandth time, why? All over again, the flashbacks cycle through your head. Good memories, bad ones. Ranging from wonderful euphoria to feelings after grave mistakes. A mental rollercoaster ride you strapped yourself into for no reason at all. Things they said, things you said. You find that your head is a broken record which never falters in recollection or account. All these memories, a timeless and photographic archive kept for no other reason than to torment you for the rest of your life. You relive a once familiar face spewing terrible factoid after factoid after factoid, which depending on perspective, or if you must be God or not, are either completely baseless opinions, or maybe totally true. You hear that loved one's voice talk terribly about you again, that same one who once whispered in your ear with such a tenderness of care and love. You go ahead and remind yourself that they now almost act like they never loved you or as if they were only the victim of your completely heinous crimes. As if it were ever news to you. You remember that just before that time, you'd already confessed before the conviction. They wouldn't let you take the blame at the time, but then threw you completely under the bus as if you all of the sudden, needed to be punished for being so absolutely terrible. You had already suffered enough. You were going nuts, you put yourself through so much pain and got so low over things barely of your doing because you wanted things to be alright. You remember confessing to them, owning up to every mistake you could think of, and even things you couldn't control...apologizing for things people said you did, but didn't even do. Promising and pleading to make things right. Promising yourself to never leave their side. That you'd always have their back. But now, you go back to remember that the things you promised were seen as nothing. If they meant something to that person once, they mean nothing now. You remember how their parents talked to you like you were worse than trash, forced a breakup. When you had only tried to piece it all together and came back to your love, they were tired of your "excuses". They even wound up thanking their parents for driving you to the edge of suicide and left you to die when they were the only thing you had left. Did I mention that only weeks after telling you they'd wait for you, after their parents forcefully broke you up, would always think the world of you, would always love you, and always want you, they decided they don't even like your gender? Now, time goes by. Those things are gone. You recreate them in your head over and over because they never did turn out alright. You try to find out what you could have done to change the result. You never got your closure and you became nothing but bad memories and the topic of gossip. The last time you tried to talk to the person about it, they told you they were tired of having to explain themselves to you, but they didnt explain anything at all except reminding you that you treated them like ****, that they're never coming back, and that they're gloriously happy with someone else. They are tired of you shifting blame on them, and telling them they almost killed you with the things the way they dumped you. After all, you almost committed suicide a dozen times. They reiterate to you for good measure, that they don't like your gender. It makes you feel disturbed as you flashback to things you did alone together. You question what was real. They tell you they could never have had *** with you, and act like it is a big deal to you. No matter what you say you can't get them to budge. Its odd to you because you already had a form of *** with them - multiple times, and they appeared to like it. Going down on her was a bit of a one way deal, but what made you happy was being able to pleasure her, and you were satisfied with that. There was never any real craving for more. Besides...you loved them, not their ****** anatomy. You thought it was mutual. You thought you were clear. You thought they were honest. Somehow now though, in their mind, they finally stomped you down. As if you were some terribly controlling brainwashing freak... they finally got away from your control and were proud to do so. The control they and their family and friends all made up for you in their heads. Just like how their mother told you that "you never did anything except **** with her head". You know you genuinely loved that girl. You know your promises were real when everyone told her you were full of ****. You remember in the last of the better days, pleading for that person to just be honest and be themselves amid so much ******* and chaos. Meanwhile people including the love of your life are completely moving on because they couldn't care less than to stop for your ****. Your life is whizzing by you. That person that hurt you, or lets say, you hurt, may never speak a word to you again, yet you continue to dwell on things you couldn't change. There are millions of fish in the sea, and you're determined to starve yourself dead before you let that one get away. Little do you know it was caught by someone else months ago and you'll never get it back. You'll just keep trying until you die because then you can pretend it isn't suicide.

Interchangeability.
affixed to loss, affixed to
     loss of limb, or
             worse.
                                              She has the
                                              wildest hair.
                                      So wild it almost makes
                                            her look tame,
                                                   by
                                comparison. and she talks
                                            of magic,
                     no,
                         she talks magic.
                                      she speaks in smoke rings
                                             and with the light of god nestled
                                                            in her bounteous hair
                   those smoke rings float up to form
       halos
                    cresting her brow

                                           shining inner light out.
                                              she is lost.
or I am lost.
       either or, but not both.
we are interchangeably lost
                        and it is not that we are less lost together,
  simply that we are together,
              and that means
                     no matter
              how
                                                      ­    l
                                                           ­                                                              o
                              s
                               ­                                                     t
       ­  we become,
    we are found.

    I
          am:
Lost in liberation
                    in victory
                    in security
                    in madness
                    in
                      her.

mystic chains that keep me tight and strait
are now rusty and down my bare feet.
freedom that I start to feel
it's more present in my chest, then in my inert limbs
what have I done?
I'm free to go?
involuntarily, my gaze goes high
questions are directed to the sky
filed with hope, and shy cry
maybe was the truth and open mind
that free me from cage of no hope.

Such a beautiful word.
But it is also
Destructive,
Deceitful,
Uncontrollable,
Unpredictable,
And scary.
So simple yet so complex.

I was asked what love, to me, means.

Love, to me, means:

Never feeling alone. When you are with them, or when you are apart.

You want to know everything and anything about them. You want to hear their stories and darkest secrets, and keep them for only you and them to share.

Nothing that pops into your head is not heard by them. They understand. And even if they don't completely understand, it's okay. You know that everything is safe with them. You can confide in them.

To you, they feel like home, your safe place, and an adventure all in one.

You never want them to feel alone or scared, or sad. You wish they could always feel loved.

You want them to always be happy. Whether it is with you, or someone else.

To see them smile.

You feel whole.

This is what love means to me.