Too soon did things blow away:
with the wind went the truth.
And certainty remained lost,
to the dark morning hours:
A place my heart bloomed for you
and later burned 'til black and blue.

Careful


Too easily did the river run dry
with endless weeks of searing tears,
ripping open the agonies of love
unrequited, weaved in shadows:
The torment of which all hopes are soiled.
Beaten by lies of secrets well toiled.

Realistic


Too fatefully did the soul shrivel
under the brutal lashings of Unwant:
carving hollows into the passions,
dredging the unworthy pangs deeper.
To the bottom of the world without light,
one may find a BROKEN HEART without fight.

**Human

Black
Creeping through my soul
Tainting everything as it goes
Ruining as it goes.

Despair
Is what it leaves
Never truly knowing
What could be

Loss
You meant so much
Now you're telling me
You just don't know.

Death
Must feel better
Than this sense of unwant
Your killing me from inside out.

(Let's pretend we are off the stage, the shadows have reached our bellies, the rest of us will be eaten soon enough).

These are my memories, like a noir film,
of you pressing my unwant down further
into my throat. You spoke too soon of a
happy ending where there could be none; there
are too few songs between us and I never even
enjoyed your ****** music. When I think back
to those sullen years, do my fingers tremble?
You can be assured they do. Two roads diverged;
the one less traveled (I thought I took it) and yet,
to find, in reality they had been worn down just
the same. I no different

from my mother who tried so very hard to
escape--to burst colorsong out of her breast.

Sometimes I stand in the shower when I'm sad,
and I think, and maybe I hope,
that the hot scalding water will wash away more than just the days dirt from my body
maybe, just maybe, it can wash away the sadness
or the feelings of unwant,
or maybe even more,
the feelings of nothing at all
so there I stand,
and there I wait

Why then .   .  .shall mine,
Heart inner walls and galleries.
Be not draped about
In such lush crushed velvet drapes and tapestries?
In plush deep daydreamy hues
Scarlet,crimson, or sanguineous ,
Which ever term
you use.
As long as it depicts the color of my muse ....
Intricate and brash
Yet refined raw and delicate

Variegated elegantly with
varied shades,
Each new love I invite in
Having artistic differences ,
As they often do
prefer Carte Blanche
To make love look
How they feel it.
For peradventure,
If I keep decor from an old love,,
Its the same as making them to blame for past pain.......
If your looking to loose
Thats the game for you..
I used to play it that way
Now I play the blues.
Over paid my dues.
Soul still bruised
Still feel the noose
And the short leash
Id run to the end
And thrash like,a spastic
They have all trained in
Emotional war tactics
Any attempt to fight back are in vain.
Their urbane
Splash stains of ratsbane,
Purple me ......
Then leave......
All vanity .
Ampersand,
Lies imbue questionnaires,
And rosy bruises replace
All this superfluous covering where love used to sojourn so beautifully.
Now the walls are a pale glossy sorta yellow .
even though the crimson flow of slow blood flow through it  .
Scars of  unwant
Disallow a chance to stain them..
Oh Love will thou come back to me again.... .
I adore thee ,
I am empty.
A fresh canvas I offer thee.
Yours wantingly
........Me.

this surly hour
I entered a new world
where the old become strange,
the known go unknown;
Siblings and elders
relations by law, friends, teachers
who we knew so long
go acting unknown
either me, unseeing
for who they are now
or them, acting distant;
Those who we loved
feign unwant,
who we adored
flagrant;
Now here like the onion
I peel the layers
going sepia from ambient
just the highlight
of this twilit hour when
beloveds go estranged

By all means, please persist.

Because who am I to arrive
bearing a smile of unwant, and
thrusting upheaval upon you?
Who am I to touch those delicate
sensibilities that are so intricately
woven into your aether?

This fragile construct of reality
that you've found so sheltering,
now quivers in the winds of change.
An over ambitious house of cards.
A deck of tarot stacked to the ceiling,
just begging me to come along
and grasp it in my lengthy arms.

To draw and to be drawn.
To show and to be shown.

To cast out a line of fate,
only to find it hooked upon some rotten boot.
What a catch.
What a catch, indeed.