I am a fire.
A son of Prometheus, perhaps.
I burn and eat and distill and
Warm and give life.

But there has been a wrong.

My smoke is black.
I suffocate and choke and blind and
hurt. Because what I am burning,
Is alive.

It's supple with the liquid of life.

The clear gold filled in leaves.
It's in her too, and my chemistry
Is off. This chemo, the kerosene.
In me, doused on her.

It burns her and hurts and I am no longer a fire.

I am afraid.

I don't sleep with a railing by my bed.
I used to, yeah, but not anymore.
After years of one to keep me
From falling, I found I like the feeling.
Down --
In love --
Off -- any of them.
It's dangerous, and irresponsible, and
Sometimes I get kinda hurt.
But the thing is, I still
Don't want my railing. It may hurt
To hit the floor.
But hey, at least I can get out
Of bed now --
Right?

I am in love with you in the way that
you are my insomnia at 4 in the morning,
the one keeping me awake because my
body doesn't remember how to fall asleep without
yours quietly curled around it,
and my brain doesn't understand
why I irrevocably hate you,
or how I can hate and love one person
so much it makes my stomach hurt,
every moment I'm not with you I think
that the distance might **** me
because the sleepless nights and empty beds
breeding incomprehensible hatred
are just because I am
so
*******
in love with you.

Hands.
***** and brown they reach up
From the mud. Opening their hands,
Releasing butterflies of death
From their clutches. The grass,
Is still green. The trees, are still alive.
Where life is around me it is also
In the hands where it shouldn't.
They grasp ankles and drag them down.
Some, fall easy. Some not so.
They turn the beautiful skin
Into deep brown ****, muddied
Brown, thick with biomasses of
******* maggots and soil and pebbles.

The sunrise is gorgeous.
It slips into your eyes and enlightens
Your vision with dazzling colours.
The world is alive. Everything is wonderful.
But the hands are relentlessness.  
It's all so pristine,
Even as the mud
Encases your nose, and
Cakes your eyes.

spend spend spend
unforgiving politics
Christian is not like that
Christian is free
much much more
than money can buy
or politics understand

Sometimes I just have to leave
To where my coat isn't wet
Gone like seasons rotating
In a merry-go-round
Before I get stuck in one myself and

Get sad, on the bench
On the train
Go insane
From the strain
Gone like seconds slipped
From your grip

I'll knock on the door and ring the bell
But it wont open, and that's okay
I really had nothing to say anyway
At least the sidewalks dry for now

Two days gone and one left unseen
My feet hit the ground, because
Sometimes I have to be the one
I'm leaning on

But back I always came
To the same
Not from shame or the blame
But because my heart never really
Left her room
So I knock on the door and
It opens up wide
With a smile inside and for that
The rain outside can
Stay on my coat

The sun rises. . .

But not yellow this time.
A deep, wonderful brown
so beautiful it's a crime.
It's rays fill the sky and clouds
With colours I would gladly drown
In. Morning grass crowds
The ground glittering with dew
From the rays of the deep brown sun
Which is a colour to which the sky is new.
****, the sky is so cute.
All it's rays reach and run
Into long arms that squeeze my air out till I'm mute.
The sun reaches in my cuts
All the way down to the bare bone
Where not even pain obstructs
Injecting warm happiness cure.
The brown of the sun is like none ever known
To the sky, a light so pure.  

. . .and is only eight days away.