No matter
How Much
I eat
I'll never
Fill the
Hole where
You belong

I want to conquer love.
I want to take it down.
Down to the river to pray -
Pray for the race of men.
In a masculine society where do I stand
effeminate as such - no two flowers touch
except at stem, and intertwining roots
lay under earth with reason.

Reason me to believe there is no question.
For questioning the authority of men
leads down no roads.
Roads are not the only paths to take.
Here, a place without horizons,
lit by amber, shadows fall
elongated and still against the ground.
There are no roads here.

Here, thoughts echo and in their nature
rebound off these cliff walls.
Here, you are the only one standing,
enduring your own constant bombardment.
Stop thinking - to think is to detest the calm.
Calm is the sublime.
The constant quiet of nothingness.

Nothingness is a fearful expanse.

The pain in your chest,
The tears threatening to spill out of your eyes...

Or maybe just the heavy feeling in your chest.

Losing precious possessions or feelings
Always impacts a person.

The impacts are always different
But the loss always happens.

I'll pack you.
I'll pack you right away, hidden under the dust, hidden under the bed.
I'll forget about you.
Or I'll attempt too.

I almost forgot about you, and then went looking.
Under the bed.

There's a reason your under the bed.
It means your close but out of sight. Out of my sight.
You're the reminder of pain, you're the reminder of happier times.
A time which is blurred, filled with lies.

Your suitcase, why is it empty?

How could I forget about you dear suitcase, I choke when I find you.
Dust of the past invades my lungs, a taste of stale, a smell of fear.

I'm afraid to move you back under the bed.
You just stare at me.
Zipped up tight; you won't reveal any secrets to me.
Your the magican and I'm the audience

I already know all your secrets Mr. Magican...

Sir, Sir, are you ready?

Because I am the suitcase of Pain.
And I'm ready to board now.

Ruby children speaking with their eyes
asking why animals cry--
they feel emotion, ruby children,
they are much like you and I.
But I am made of ruby stone--
my skin is harsh and I've got no organs.

Ruby children speaking with their eyes
asking why humans cry--
they cry when they are overwhelmed
silly children.
Do animals cry like a human --
asked the ruby children.
Why yes they do, what a silly thing to conclude.

Why don't I cry--asked the ruby children.
That's because you're worth something--
You have no reason to.

There was morality in why women want,
but emotional voids are consumed by consumerism
and it’s redundant, but you can’t feed the starving
food. These days you can’t find one not
entranced by the idea of a “better ****** diet,”
and it sounds like they need to eat out more, but
the Glamour in magazines is under empty stomachs
and proof-labeled wine. So you find yourself at a cross,
cross-eyed and in a skeletal body running in the rain.
But if she wrote Drinking: A love story, and broke my heart,
then she can fill voids with Hegel substitutions. She filled
one with God and one with Zoloft. A baby escapes,
escape that Burroughs found only in blow-jobs and *****(
until he met a golden pig and finally blacked-in)
And in the child’s first suckling moment
“Let her be filled.”

As Jim Morrison put it-

“come on baby light my fire”

Well consider me burnt

I am the embers of a dying flame
I am an ashtray in your heart

I am the curl of smoke on freshly lit incense

I am light
I am light

I am bones in a field

I am a solitary crow

I am smite
Baby, I am fading light