A sixteen year old boy stands at a bus stop
Fighting back the contortions flooding his face
Swallowing down the clay in his throat
Desperately praying his knees stay strong

The bus pulls away
The boy watches as eighteen months of his life drives away from him
The girl he loved with the passion only known by a teenage boy
Is now gone

And as he stumbles in the opposite direction
Blinded by questions unanswered
The memories begin their assault
Beating him in every way he fears

watch gray inking night
turn to amber
like a special ink upon
some mysterious blotting paper
and the same state as previous
of profound emotional turmoil
thunders within my heart
what cause is this
that has so overwhelmed me
what sorcery is it that binds me to tears
that blink through wet stained eyelashes
and wash upon my face in tumbling droplets
form a recreation of heightened moments
of my consciousness the weightlessness of inner thought
It makes me know the winds speech
realise the attempted elimination of identity
and I try desperately to hide
from the gargoyles that now stalk me through the streets
and smell their black breath hanging in the air
like some kind of numbing intoxicant mist
and I try to resolve the enigma that is the core of my being
that which contains the esoteric voice of the wind
in rapacious resoundements of remembrance
that cannot be recalled to mind

Love seems to be my greatest test;
both in its presence
and it's absence;
it breaches me ,
and tests my mettle.

Look what Love has reduced me to:
I've cried so much my eyes are dry
and screamed so much my voice is gone;
I've slept and eaten so little that my limbs shake,
and I feel nauseous constantly
but I can't seem to do anything about it.
I writhe in pure anguish
at the thought of you
and what you've done while I changed for us.
at at same time as I am comforted
by the thought of you
and what we've been through, for us.

Such ironic torment.

Maybe once I've moved on
you'll be ready
and I'll be gone.

**** my life.
All is asunder.
All is ruin.

All can begin anew, yet
All I yearn for is what I've had.

**** THIS ANGUISH.

the things you said
at 1am
were the things i kept
at the times when
i desired to die
and i conspired to cry
and i wanted to be thin
and i cut my skin

the times you looked
into my eyes
were the times i kept
when i saw the lies

the times you whispered
and made me smile
were what i remembered
when i needed to hide*
                        
                                          then came the times
                                          where you were unkind
                                          and i did not keep those
                                         for they kept mine

You say you want to experience passion,
ironically,
I wish I could show you passion.

I had ideas.

Now I have pain.
I need poison.