She offers up stolen kisses,
Of pilfered lust from other men,
Of lips of empty promises,
To bare her nothingness again.

She clothes herself in nakedness,
Her basic need is to entice,
Her body is her sacredness,
Inviting men to paradise.

She has beauty misunderstood,
Her ugly inside permeates.
Skin deep she’s mistaken for good,
By fools that she humiliates.

She’ll gift a night of fantasy,
And all she’ll ask is for your soul,
She knows you’ll give in willingly
She’s mastered lack of self-control.

Time spent in obsessive contemplation
Of infinite paths of infinite ifs.
How many if only buts today alone?
I could be infinitely different.

My head hurts, my soul is so uncertain.
I’m this, and not infinite other ifs.
I am from mistakes of pure carelessness,
I am random intentional choices.

My world is what it is, but is that all?
What remains of other infinite ifs?
I have memories of worlds that weren’t,
Of worlds that might be infinitely worse.

There is an unknown me inside of me,
Who pursued some other infinite ifs.
And yet, what if I chose right every time?
What if that unknown me is also me?

The days, they flee like frightened prey
From ravenous needs of the past,
Appetite that feeds on today,
Voracious hunger’s everlast.

Still open wounds prey on the weak,
Tomorrow’s young without defense.
It’s deadly game of hide and seek,
It’s pain’s surviving consequence.

Tomorrow has not built the strength
To outrun this ferocity,
Anger pursues and shortens length
So it can feed on what could be.

The ruthless past pursues to feed
In service to instinct to ****,
Attack and let the future bleed,
To prey on time so it stands still.

Her voice lingers in the air, still and dead,
Stifling like oppressive August haze,
Stagnant musty pressure upon the head,
Like humid air that hasn’t moved for days.

Her voice lingers, her words stuck to my skin,
Putrid filth I can never wash away,
As unforgiving as a mortal sin,
I can’t be cleansed of what she had to say.

Her voice lingers, her “no” rings in my ears,
A branding iron of shame on display,
Her answer to my love will last for years,
Words I did not deserve to hear her say.

Her voice lingers, its echo like a pall,
Her voice lingers, “I don’t love you at all.”

Everything withers, e’en leaves of a tree,
Lush and full of life, verdant canopy.
The years take their toll, brittle death sets in,
The floor greets darkness the bare tree lets in.

The living have their time, then fade away,
Life lasts a moment, death years and a day.
We perish, and the preserved go rotten,
What we did, who we were, long forgotten.

Our long days belie our shortness of years,
The ground remains dry, unchanged by our tears.
Nothing yet lives that won’t see its last dawn,
There is no forever; all will be gone.

Plants return to earth, and us back to dust,
We live in denial; should we adjust?
Everything withers, e’en leaves of a tree.
I know this, yet, I am compelled to be.

My tears owe themselves to delight,
Flowing feeling I cannot fight,
Same tears that were sadness at night
Blur my eyes in elation’s light.

My tears owe to feelings so strong,
A heart that’s been toyed with too long,
Same tears for no love to belong
Celebrate that I was so wrong.

My tears owe to struggles with fate,
Lost loves to which none can relate,
Same tears cry alone while they wait
Flow from the joy of my soulmate.

My tears owe to emotions raw
Convinced I was creation’s flaw,
Same tears of shame as I withdraw
Thankful I embrace love with awe.

Days pass, hazy sunrise to misty night,
Yesterday and tomorrow like today,
Again, again, no difference in sight,
The fog that fell will never go away.

Nobody goes out when it is like this.
All routes barren in unpassable gray,
Again, again, another day to miss.
Who would drive blind, in darkness, anyway?

Look around, there is nothing but sameness.
Nothing changes except from slow decay.
Again, again, time falls to the aimless
Stoic and lost in a life thrown away.

Once hurt, just once, and the spirit has died,
Leaving behind an empty shell to stay,
Again, again, each new hour cast aside,
To die just a little more every day.