maybe i ask for mercy too much.
the tragedy in the unfathomable
creaks at the footing of my bed.
it waits to grab upon my free will.
my greed destined to be beside
the body that dances in desire
for a single breath of clarity.
human nature may grasp the
ebbing of my mind as i sing in
glee for relief. human nature
may define that we all are
inherently built with greed to
progress us but my heart
has faded and my soul has
been defined. i ask for mercy
out of greed for myself.

i ask, i pray for god to put me out my misery.
to wither me emotionless with the lesser
ability to exist and not full of feelings.
for my own sanity, i plead for dire
consequences for my own self
worth as I’ve made excuses
and pathetic decisions
that plague my life
as I ask for god.
I ask for god.
I ask.

if i could reach out to you, i would.
i would shelter you from the abyss of
the darkness that ebbs away your livelihood.
i would gather your shards into my hands
and keep them together; glue them, in fact.
i would comb through your pitch black locs,
scratch at your scalp and rub at the throbbing temples.
i would hold onto your slipping sanity; keeping it from falling off your conscience through and through.
i would wipe away at the trails of wetness tunneling down your cheeks and kiss your swollen eyelids that house your chocolate orbs filled to the brim with grief—grief for your childhood dying.
i would embrace you. i would allow you to listen to the drumming of my heart to soothe the thoughts that plague your mind.
i would reassure you in ways you haven’t thought about yourself—allowing you to swallow me whole.
i would wipe away the seeping black ooze that wishes to taint your soul—to fill you to the brim with impurities that seek to destroy you.
i would sing out the world’s hope to inspire newfound joy deep within the depths of doubt.
if i could reach out to you, i would.

through all the nights i spent
utterly smitten for you and searching for the
longing of a life with you that
intrigues even the simplest of ideas that
plays over and over in my head.

my mother's lullabies soothe the unearthed trauma of wasted tears and years spent wishing I would've never fantasized the wounds you've created.