Throughout the years,
you have made pictures of yourself
available for us to see

and through a number of them--
have shown unedited,  a clear and
horrendously honest view,  directly
into your deeply-struggling soul--  

and even if you may had just days  
or hours,  previously
conveyed a look of almost carefree
   happiness and beauty..  

Those chosen few  that
graciously gave the glimpse  of how
bad it can so often be for you,  
also.. unbeknownst to you,  

   gave light
of how tremendously valuable
and rare you really are.

And like a dyed-in-the-wool stalker,  
I saved screenshots of the ones  that
moved me to tears

years later..
and they still affect me that way

and in fairness, some the ones  also
to where you were truly glowing  
in all  of your natural beauty..

  on the ying' side
  of the bipolar swing.

You are rare and unique..
so very very one of a kind,
(and I have every right throughout the
years to say that to you here and now)

--that there is a  worth  within every single
part of it all that is wholly beyond measure--
you can feel it sometimes, little beauty
I know there is no way that you cannot.

One day  the ravens will no longer be
able to steal that wholly accurate,
beautiful self-view so easily from you,

..and you will be able to live that
wonderfully-accurate view out,  daily--
having now found it's way down in to
your very, central core..

.  .  .  

Sorry, young love.. I know how much  a
beautiful truth such as this, hurts.
You reveal so much of who you are
through the raw innerworkings  and
conveyances of your poetry and music.

You would not be that so very beautiful way,
if you did not believe that Love would
eventually find a way..

  yes, beauty..  even for you.

You are in there,  I am certain of it--
Behind the gear's finely-honed,
precision fit  gear..

in to gear
in to gear

into gear..
And I wonder..  do you want out?
The machine  on the outside, self-repairs
Any attempt towards dismantle  from
the external,  is futile..
But the internal,  beautiful girl..

"I don't know what you mean, about 'machine'"
She is apprehensive, those beautiful
brown eyes,  looking up at me..
"Look down, sweet girl"
Her thighs, fully parted,  as I slide
in to her.. those amazing hips,
moving so perfectly with mine,  extracting..

Milking from me, my warm  pulsing *****--
a deeply-penetrating lubricant,  pulsed
deeply into the machine
As if to lubricate its gears..
As if..

But penetrating so deeply, as to now
permeate the insides  of the
mechanization's innerworkings--
turning from lubricant, to that
of a corrosive nature..
Fully coating now, the inner you..

as it turns back now, into that
of a healing balm
Bringing to you  a moment of Light  
  and internal clarity--  
long enough for you to see

    That the machine  is made vulnerable
    by the ever-changing qualities  of
    Love that found its way through
    As the awakened parts within you, for the
    first time.. understand

the machine's love-blocking,  nature
And you begin to choose, mid-******
the machine's dismantle,  from the inside--

'Little by little..

Line, upon line..

Block, upon block..

Precept, upon precept..'

Until we have the chance,  once again..
to do it all again

I worry
that we have fallen so deep
that should we ever
fall out
we would be
too absorbed
to climb out.
I worry
that you have
fallen out and
just don't know how
to tell me.
What if you've let
your doubt overcome you
and you simply
just don't know how
to tell me.

words tear me a new soul. i thought i discarded mine to the wind when sorrow alighted barely balancing on the barbed wire fence, wings dank and damp, mangy feather dropping into thick dusty underfoot
dusting me off, windex the glass around my innerworkings so you can watch them spin dizzy from your helium touch

cast not thine pearls before swine
bare not your heart
to fools.

don't show him the twisted, living coil that hides inside -
the innerworkings of your insecurities
he will not find them illustrious.

my worst fear
is to be thought
dramatic

I never tried to hurt you, I never ever wanted to hurt you. There is no way that you can write without drawing out the best parts of the warmest and most loving hearts, but every time ones such as yourself draw from me (without your even knowing it) the best I have to give in response, I still somehow end up ******* it all to hell.

There is no way whatsoever that a person who conveys their innerworkings and trauma the way that you do should ever slip through the cracks-- unloved, unheld, and un-cared for by loving, supportive hearts.. (and I'm not talking about romantic love..)
I have an idea who it is that you are in real life, by what you have chosen to convey of yourself and your story throughout the years.. but that doesn't really matter either, I guess

because history tells me that my unfiltered way of talking would just **** that up also.

But if an honest struggler such as yourself wanted a ****-up artist to never give up responding from the heart.. if that is what it takes to help keep the wild, unfettered ones like you (at least, writing-wise) from slipping, alone into despair, then that is what I will do.. not give up either.

But trust me when I tell you, babe.. I am burned out also.

Never, ever give up believing. If there were enough ones such as yourself (as to what you are writing here), or even just you, alone-- continuing to write open-heartedly the way you have in the past, and again here.. I promise that I would not give up also. If you want to be held closely when the ravens come and have picked your hope clean, then that is what you will most likely receive.. and I dont necessarily mean from me. I have studied your heart and spirit through your chosen posted words almost since the very first day I got here.

There is no way that others cannot both see and feel those things also, kid.

Hold on to that.

If I could give a voice to anything, would it be the stones of the earth,
with such stories to tell, having seen all on our planet,
yet still young in the universe?
Would I give voice to the stars,
who probably haven't given us a second glance?

Perhaps I'd give voice to the innerworkings of my mind.
Would it overstep itself, and become lost and scared?
The words spoken would be tangled, half ideas, in a language not of earth.
The voice of my mind would offend, and be hurt.
Would I give voice to the wind, who travels to distant lands,
motivates the sea to dance, and speaks in whispers the gossip of the trees?
Would the wind dapple in speaking to us, but never form a full thought,
whisked away by curiosity and freedom?

Perhaps I'd give a voice to something small, a butterfly.
But a butterfly is too enthralled with its short life
to mess around with such silly language,
Perhaps a spider,
who waits on her web.
She contemplates the world,
in her short life is wise and understands its workings.
But perhaps she would beg to rid the world of hummingbirds,
and I'm not sure I could listen to her.

Crash around me
And drown me
In your presence
Choke me
With your essence
Surround me

Let me dance
In your skin
Such a trance
You put me in

I want to know
Your thoughts
Your innerworkings
The gears and springs
Of your thinking

Literally
Smother me
With your embrace
Lace
Your fingers
Over my face
And keep them
In place

Pin me hard
Against the wall
Kiss me now
Full of venom
Until I feel
Nothing at all

Numb my lips
With yours
Grasp my hips
Until I'm sore

I want to be lost
In a sea of you
Tossed
By the wind
Until I begin
To go mad
From so much
You

Entrap me
In your web
Grab me
Like the spider
Does the fly
And **** out
My insides

Savor
My agony
My desire
My love
The fire
That burns
My chest
To ash

Rip me to shreds
Until nothing is left
But minuscule
Papers
Threads
Pieces
Spread
Over your body

Afflict me
With your affection
Inject me
With your imperfections
Saw me in half
With your flaws
Ravage me
With your jaws

Tease me with
Your fingers
Make me writhe
With filthy pleasure
I wanna scream
In ecstasy
Helplessly
And endlessly