i dig my nails into my palms
and allow them to caress and sculpt
an indentation into my skin
as if the sting will mask some kind of vendetta
that my subconscious holds over me
as a result my unprecedented thoughts
lead me through a dark tunnel
with no silver lining at the end because
i feel like i dont deserve you
because i feel as if
you are simply
the beginning and the end
i am not morbidly mourning
my own self destruction,
but i had forgotten my priorities
when i first laid eyes on you
the innocence of my being had been lost
because every pore had been filled
with the presence of yourself
it is incredibly challenging to explain
the exasperating and overwhelming draft
you add to the room
like a casting call for your own role - identity
i could play it over and over again
like a torn up passion
sprinkling its own grace over
the particular stereotype
like those films and stories
of love and deep movement
you are simply the blindness that i feel
to all of my surroundings
that inevitably keeps me from recognizing
the beginning and the end
of myself