Stuck in this burning nightscape
knees replacing feet as
trees combine protection
and inevitable regression
to some beast's detection,
it's a call of mayday
to belay
the nights bereaved.

I missed the days
when fathers lay silent
in their posturing prose,
I missed the day
when fathers play, silent
in their organized rows.
I missed the day
when time took its lull
and silently stood still.

Now it's dropping me
in hallowed peace,
sacred work
left taming beasts.
And women need
their reason to seethe
last thought as
I'm lacking
air to breath.

Too bad I see
that vacuum piece,
or else I'd let
you ****** me.
But now they've named it
Suicide,
this fading high
on which I ride,
leaving this world
to ensure
I get
the girl,
leaving this life
tattooed with knives,
blades too dull for her taste,
to provide the tears she's cried.

And tears become oceans
growing from puddles
to seize hold of perception,
I'm stuck riding through motions,
salt water potions
growing devotion,
single drop notions
exposing the quotient
that U plus i equals,
but the answer's
chosen a different formulation,
and me and you
are dividing all we have
so we don't have to remove
our individuality any longer,
so we are an individual
duality no longer,
so I have to hold back
this duality no longer,
and my mental reins
no longer deal with the strain
of convincing you I'm another.
It seems as though the Sun's daughter
couldn't stand me any stronger.

The troubled nature of
how we'd come to be a
singularity was the very story
holding my prosperity,
from death to life,
I brought naught strife
but adventure, just matters
on what perspective you use.
And my third eye prism
made it seem as though
the Moon's daughter
found a life with
a demigod a bother.

Life had gotten boring riding the backs of these gluttons,
so she thought it about time to release the dogs
and left me hounded by a mind forgetting all the swine,
left The Year of the Rat with its hands tied firm 'gainst its back

Now she's singing in Spanish
of past lives' damages,
using dialects unfamiliar
and languages unheld,
words not understood
but meaning seeping through,

so I take away
to let her relapse,
releasing thought patterns
to comprehension of all but her
and the language which makes dreams.
Sleeping,
let her switch back
to those dreams which make the words we use,
the dreams which make the words we abuse,
dreams which make the worlds we peruse
to relearn languages.

We're screaming at each other again
birthing hatred from ideals left on skin,
and I let her draw with knife's edge,
still dull as memory serves its purpose,
from that swelling source named inspiration.
I left here to let her this hedge,
separating us through this break
I can't go back to giving in,
I can't relapse to my begin.

Too far gone
we're born in mangers
and to this day
gifted by strangers
gold borne of silver, china
topped by the latest craze.
But you are missing the noose
floating alongside sheepskin hangers
as we're falling from the rafters
they helped us hang from.