Spoken Word Poetry.

Prosecute me.
Feed me to the wolves.
I cannot live
              with what I have done to you.

I am beastly.
Pale behind the curtain.
Thick with the deceit
              you have cut through.

You are calm.
In this sea of heresy.
You are the light in my day, illuminating.

That's why it's frustrating,
And grating,
When I think of us copulating.

Systematic mating.
              Somewhat creating.

All because I am hating
Who you have made me in to.

This pulsating,
              agitating,
                              being.

Alienating instead of
                          a l l e v i a t i n g
                          this excruciating complexity.  

I was detonating.

And it -
           it was fascinating.

Not it.
That was just penetrating.

Suffocating and terminating my bond with you.

Separating.

So that I could begin accelerating

And clearly  a r t i c u l a t i n g
Who I really wanted to be.

It was   i n c a p a c i t a t i n g.
And yet intoxicating.

Because you are what I want.
Despite it all.
I want you.

So prosecute me.

Please feed me to the wolves.
I cannot live with what I have done to you.

You are calm.
Whilst I am on fire.