the theft of your heart has no home.
its only purpose is to be black
or the dark background
in one of Alex Grey's wonderful paintings

the heist defined so sonorously by me
the line which i am so concentrated to draw
all that Value which i mistakenly placed
upon your shoulders that night,
you angels! that radiate through me...
let me be your radiation, love, too

and let me shoulder my transgressions
i do it like Oppenheimer
i glowed in the same strange sort of way
always had such a romance for the poisonous,
always had such a flame with the treacherous.

"you went on for days, literally days
and your words clotted up and we watched you pick at the scabs
yes we wanted you to heal but you were picking at your scabs
no one was really sure
what the hell you were looking for."

said pete

i guess i'm alive to declare my own nation
my very own universe
and i get to tell you what i feel is creation
and what is lost to heat death
but you left me teetering, the apple of my eye
you blue as summer skies
why'd you take my breath away!?
you left my tongue so desperate
on top of the universe
at any pause,
you were so beautiful,

...

i had to die.