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So many beautiful
Wasted words,
that die unconsumed
or else we eat our own meals
In shame,
or throw them out in disgust,
Why keep a log of failures
when the redundancy of its content
only illustrates our foolishness.
Worshipping *** and violence as dark gods
because we are all excitation driven animals.
We fail to comprehend the divinity of these acts.
A merging of twin energies, such as these
creates wild vortexs of contrary paradoxes,
overwhelming conundrums of need and desire.
We beg for destruction,
for we know that the longing can only be dulled,
the aching throb creeps along our day,
seeping in to enslave us in this cage.
In the horrific spiraling mania,
hands reach out, but loving arms are torn apart,
with declarations of desire and dedication
being shredded and scattered to whirlwind.
Long ago, I said this, with a foul mouth,
and you deserved so much better,
So I will say it again, so that perhaps this time
it will adhere to your mind, and fuse with your spine...
You are beautiful in the mirrors of my eyes,
and I carry your image stapled to my brain,
with the words
I love you,
carved into my frontal lobe
with a ceramic knife,
forged out of the powdered bones
of our failures.
Our victory lies
in knowing that our restless lips
await each other with all the patience they can muster
until I am able to touch you
and draw you to me,
so that I can pull forth
the divinity inside of you,
and merge it with mine
in a maelstrom of *** and violence.