A thirst for sacrifice, freedom poised in the form of enslavement,
onward, forward, no looking back as feet trek miles of pavement.

Grip a gun, words steady a flow of rubber munitions,
take a stand, open wide, as each side prepares their grievance to defend their positions.

Swatted down, taken back, lucid dreaming not as free flowing as it’s seeming,
smile stale, vacant eyes are the way out that begs for a beating.

Picture this: picket fence, fresh coat of paint covering the wounds of war,
each brush stroke, vibrant, brighter and hiding what the truth is for.

A minor nudge, a major steer, placed in the wrong direction,
subtle lies are building walls and piercing shields meant for protection.

Crumble then and crumble now, this life is unexpected,
hold my hand, tear out my heart, please show me how we’re connected.

I spend my nights alone, sipping coffee playing sad songs on repeat,
I refuse to face myself, the perfect mirror, as that just admits defeat.

You’re a hero now to some who wish that the forever end would come,
close your eyes, if only forever, a small respite that helps me succumb.

Realize sooner, rather than later, that maybe you’re not the one,
place a hold on this life, as realization sets in that I will not be outdone.

You are my sun and my moon,
brightening my day and a reflection of night in the afternoon.

A hanging smile that cripples doubt, catapulting love towards eager ears,
Distressed days, with no mention of completed youth,
heavy  marks, crossing off days and counting down years,
a hanging head reflected in a polished mirror that only speaks truth.

Restrain your disdain as you slowly blow kisses in the wind,
unlatch our hands, let go and slowly unwind so that we can sin again.

I want to smother your smile with words from the wise,
a heartfelt apology that only serves to disguise disgusting lies.

I know that there’s a want, an unexplained need,
it’s so easy for you to just open a hand and watch me feed.

Temptress, oh you make such a lovely noise,
standing still, waiting to strike, so elegantly poised.

Trace each trait of this burning, stable, family tree,
Let’s love what we love and just let each other be.

Hands wringing in tepid anticipation,
marking braver words as a means of simple distraction,
you reel me in with a love long lost, keep me quiet, a beautiful reaction.

Like potted plants placed in the shade of life’s yard,
I die a little more each day until life plays its final card.

Stars staggered, making way for something big, something more,
I listen close for whispered words when the shouts go ignored.

A warning, a tremble, a subconscious grievance of time considered,
a time not forgotten by a trusted touch that only you delivered.

A handful of stones unturned,  pleading, rough around the edges,
ourselves a display of dedication to each other, a sign of our pledges.

Let’s close our eyes and gather all of our unused wishes,
cling to hope and do our best to ignore the malicious.

Teeter totter on the blade of passion between death and struggle,
caution poised in the form of living as I expand, and step outside of my bubble.

Stay with me as I empty out my visions to your listening ear,
make me a better me as I admire your reflection, my dear.

You stole it once, my racing, beating, bleeding heart,
now piece it back together as the world’s words tear it apart.

A gruesome view, entitled to let eyes see what they seek,
you use compassion, fits of wonder to restore me, as a way to be unique.

I love the little things that concern you about me,
let’s just stay here, holding on to one another, and let it be.

I’ve been told that dead men don’t tell tales,
but even worse are those that live and scream out truth through their wails.

A bleeding heart stored on the cusp of each evenings glow,
I clap my hands at this life’s end, such a terrible show.

There’s pressure planted at the base of each kings throne,
A different taste, desire and let down for something more homegrown.

A rupture in space through the waves of one heart mimic,
harder and harder to face life’s twists and turns by trying to set unreal limits.

I picture time leaned back, relaxing; testing its own struggle,
A few more breaths, here and there, is what I’m trying to smuggle.

The end of days has a commonality with that of a dial tone,
Both are calling out, trying to be heard, but ultimately die alone.

Evicted emotions are the envy and the end-all of the wax and wane,
forgive and forget so that in the near future you can fall prey to the same.

Disregard feelings like a dusty souvenir sitting on a high shelf pawn shop,
Push on, take names, and whatever you do, never retreat or stop.

Regurgitated fears as I choke back free flowing tears,
taking another crack at your misguided attack has set me back fifteen years.

Using your wit, a bit, you must admit has helped you climb the ladder,
but wholesome, and truthfulness, no, that’s an entirely different matter.

Blame is a funny thing it seems,
when the reality of your nightmares takes the place of plesant dreams.

You pray, and will yourself towards outcomes lined in silver,
cut deep, fire again, as you pull another arrow from your quiver.

A light at night that feeds as darkness flees,
desire consumed by placing doubt at the feet of make-believe.

You there, holding a smile hostage behind years of troubled abuse,
make peace, a tempting trait, finding a way to  hinder happiness’ truce.

One foot in front of the other, stubbed toes that follow a cemented path,
tears well up, washing smudges from the windows of your soul, you’ll laugh.

An advocate for all things ‘animal’, the scapegoat least of all.
Tying the knot, shoestring situation - wait for me, your beck and call.

deleting inconsistencies, stick around for a little while and you’ll see,
Self-love, outward hate, a slipstream race towards all I’ll ever be.

There’s a tactical, cumbersome advantage to living life so free,
the ability to live and love who we want, until that person decides to disagree.

Place an ear to my chest, and hear the rhythm of lies with each heartbeat,
In this day and age of open hate, no regard to civility, no reason to be discreet.

Advice to die by, said like this: love one another, and like yourself,
we only have so long on this earth before we’re taken off the shelf.

A box of delicate memories placed at the foot of a rotting bed,
a loving stampede of iron-wrought guilt pounding through my head.

Warnings ignored and systems shocked with awe,
placing careless wagers as teeth clamp down and devour what you saw.

Piercing light that opens the eyes of the blind,
shuttered in, posture slowly never knowing what you’ll find.

Fallen prayers smashing against aging rosaries,
escape to the end, trapped inside with such un-pleasantries.

Thoughts and prayers are offered like a flooding martyr,
“save yourself, while risking nothing,” the words of a choppy waters charter.

We’ve pieced together this creature that we’ll call “beautiful”,
compliments and praise raised them up and come in plentiful.

These words of distrust tear apart the foundation brick by brick,
bleeding out a loving life force that leads one to seem anemic.

You shouted out a curse, meaningless and precise,
the end seems so near, joyful still in a fool’s paradise.

There’s only me in a sea of envious jealously,
there’s nothing there at the end of forever, accepted so readily.

Monsters behaving badly, we as humans, are just that, sadly,
close our eyes, the quiet sleep, as we finally reach our bleak finale.

Words forming and frothing at the base of your skull,
hidden there in plain sight, your agenda, rocking to sleep and disrupting this lull.

A mediocre salute, a half-hearted disregard for speech that let this skin shine anew,
a simpler time when batted eyes and vicious curves would encourage chaos to ensue.

Cupped hands make their way towards dead and dying dreams,
spreading flames and fire, the spark of life not quite what it seems.

Like the conscious of a guilty man, decisions heavy, unable to stand,
I’m the supply when the masses have ceased their demand.

Chiseled tongue, making quick work of carved marble and stone,
a thousand summer suns, desperately trying to understand why they are alone.

The hardest of life’s lessons are self taught,
fists raised and ready; the toughest fights are the ones not fought.
.
Tactics taught to fool oneself, belief in the form of a greater good,
“do unto others,” and life will reward you as you think it should.

Disease comes and stays just the same, claiming both the healthy and the lame,
good enough - smart enough - rich enough - sometimes we just aren’t.... enough,
eyes waking to rainy days, a broken joy that’s finally given up,
confidence collides through a whirlwind of regret that follows a family name.

Slipping silently through the night, sticking to shadows and luring the moonlight,
A wishful existence that tastes so miserable, eyes closed, until finally: goodnight.

There’s a level of love buried behind your kind eyes,
a misplaced terrible truth, upended before the lies.

Your touch, a soft warm glow just beyond the tree line,
uncomfortable calm like one plate short at the table where we dine.

A prophet preaching puzzle pieces, forcing unfamiliar edges to fight,
hold my hand, test my heart and know that moments with you are my respite.

My guardian, perched sentry, posted overlord, you - a tale that’s better with age,
a life unkempt, and eyes that haven’t wept, a calm soul that’s never seen rage.

Be a shadow, steal my footfalls, lend a hand when ears bleed red,
forever words, like guided missiles, mean more based on who, or what, was said.

A lack of empty trust, replaced with expert dignity and never-extinguished lust,
our lives intertwined, forsaken, with a gridlock that one can hope will not rust.

You’ve roots placed in the deepest, darkest places of me,
if i’m the “apple of your eye” then you, my dear, would be the tree.

Patience tested, revealed only by the  need for now,
the need to breathe, restored, a resurgence of cascading favors were allowed.

My well being, your welfare, never more than a stones throw from home,
sitting across from a mirror image of happiness, leaving lifeless words in our hearts catacombs.

A charge ruled out, an unwillingness to change,
like us, love them, get through this life turning page by page.