Have I not
Yet overstated
Graves and havens
All the same and
Grim as I’ve ever been
Staunch proletarian
There is but one
Whom I hold
Dearest sentiment
Much to the complement
Of my addictions,
My bastions
In ashes
Atop my convictions
My practical
Prosperous
Prose
Only knows
How irrational
Feels
How emotional flows
When she goes
Beyond where
I relinquish control
Where the only choice left
Is to give her my soul

Look at us
Blurring the days
In these picture frames
Going our own
Separate ways
Onto sicker brains
Leaves me
Internally
Wretching
To contemplate
Predicated
On the seedbed of doubt
That what happens between us
Would wither without

We’re all just
Walking corpses
Mass extortionists
Exploiting
One another’s
Other lovers’
Generosity
Avoiding
Indiscretion
Infidelity
Indefinite
Decay
And in the interim
Infer
There must be someone left
To save

Not problems
Ideations
More like mental health
Math equations
Wait
Can I say that
It’s not a condition?
Just bury myself
In my work
In my mission
In reason
Still lacking a purpose
But aimed
At the brains
Of the same
Kinda strange

Always wallow
Ever wither
I am underneath
The winter
Soldiering
Like lonely snowmen
Thinking of the graves
Below them
Frozen in
How long I’ve known this
Predisposed to cold
Immersed
My killer instinct
Nature lurks
How hard to keep repressed
It works
To seal within
An icy fortress
My most
Predatory
Portraits

Immersed in new roles
Disappearing in me
If I get any closer to death
I am free
But I might just keep playing
This game every day
I can meet
And delete you
The same
Unafraid
To be severed
From ties
Tirelessly I knotted
And weathered the storm
Like a pumpkin patch
Rotted
Forgotten again
Is the ink in my pen
And despite how it pains me
I still write its end