Your love was the foggy, soot-filled landscape. The dawn overlooking the scene. The light piercing through the smog. The hot, smothering air with a dry powder texture that cakes my lungs. Infects me.
     Your love was desolate; with only the sound of your voice tethering it to the rest of the world. The sound of the fastidious, yet somewhat, saturnine emotion was enough to keep me interested. You are the background noise that emanates from a television in an empty room that keeps me company. Your love is the remains of a scrapyard, landfill, or the outskirts of a factory. It is busy yet barren. Occupied but lonely. Near but never there.
   Your love was a pile of dirt, trash, and soot. Your love did nothing but overlook the melancholy of me. As if it was the eyes of god, they judged the corruption and pollution of my greed and desire with not anger or hate, but instead, with regret and sadness. It was always watching; always judging. And I was cursed. Never able to look away.

To me,  elegance.
To you, they are pretentious.
But who gives a ****?

The illustrious city filled with smog creates fantasies that seem to fog. Or is it me that withholds the truth? From the battered wives to the troubled youths. But we always change the world we see with happy words that set us free from the pollution of our society.

      Hollywood calls out the fame that has taken power; differed from shame. We look away for fear of fault. We take the pain with grains of salt. To us helpless sinners to us depressed, we  use connotations to ease our rest. We put ourselves to moral test.

     Though, happy lives, they often lack the strength to keep the world intact for the corrupted place it seems to be that preaches good-will and democracy, yet fails in generosity. But we contorted the world we see with happy words that set us free from the sadness of our society.

I wish I could break
Shatter into a million pieces
Of sharded glass, waiting to be stepped on.
Causing you to bleed wouldn't hurt me
Because I would already be broken.

This universe doesn't give a ****
Whether we're moving
Or camping out on life's sidelines.
The doers, in the end
Meet the same fate as the dreamers.

I want you to break me.
Work me until I fall apart
Until I can't take it anymore.
At least then
I will overdose on my need for perfection
Before I die of it.
You can take my needle from me
Before my heart stops beating.
Before it turns my blue vein black.

Then maybe I can stop craving
Everything that hopes to **** me off.

I can feel you in the deepest, darkest places;
You are the trembling of my bones,  
and the pulse of my heart.  
You hold me together, but tear me apart -
forever hollow, but consumed by you.
My paradox.