I pour myself into you
Who, as an empty basin,
Allowed me to fill you up to the brim,
But kept me from ever overflowing.
I pour myself into you*
Who, as an elegant, yet twisted and cracking vase,
Forced me into the confines of your ****** contours,
Eventually I come dripping out the top, and through the cracks.
I pour myself into you
Who, as three separate bowls,
hold me safely, but compartmentalized from myself,
I long to be whole again.
I poured myself out
Onto, the withered crippled decayed concrete,
Only to wash away at the slightest rain,
away with the refuse
Down Dead Man’s alley.
I poured myself out
Into, my own trembling hands,
Breathlessly hoping to hold my sanity together in outstretched arms to heaven,
Palms cupped trying to cradle myself together,
But, with every bump and misstep I lose a drop of myself to the open air,
Ending, with brittle dry hands holding no moisture.
I poured myself out
And, down my own arrogant throat,
pleasantly drunk on myself, “Cheers! to ******* me,”
Until, I ***** and am up and down the drain.
I pour myself into
My, Father’s fertile soil,
and sit back patiently for harvest.
I cultivate my land, this is my Garden,
mumblings of Voltaire and  l'optimisme,
I watch my flowers bud.

I poured myself out and into you,
but I am still here,
yet here I still stand.