Your parted lips
   do not taste
Of sugar
   nor of salt

Neither
these
     thorned roses
  nor
     stormy seas
My ****** angel,
Could ever compare
   To thee

Your parted lips
    do not taste
Of sunshine
    nor of glare


But of the blazing
almighty Sun itself
(the divine source of light at a noon's twelve)

Blossoming blisters
   on my tongue
Erupting volcanoes
  are the pores
           on my skin
               at your
                touch

You do not taste
  of regret
But of promise
  from the past

A mystery that sipped in
     through murky wine
you are dark
  disastrous delight

at first  
     &
       at last

Unbelievably
     (mine)

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

I have a desire to be free in ways that would destroy me, in ways that aren't accepted in this world. I have a need to be free in ways that don't even exist, from things that are such parts of my continued existence as a being that to get what I need would be to cease. I am a lover who has found nothing to take the love I have. I cannot stand to be near anyone, but I crave closeness in such a desperate, painful way that it controls me. I am a logical, orderly, sound, carefully crafted mind, trapped inside the chaos of a soul that I cannot be sure was ever made to withstand the kind of feelings it itself produces constantly. Without the handicap of my humanity, I would be free, disentangled from this web of useless little things I care about. The one that trusses up my legs and trips me and no matter how I try to find the pattern in it, reason has no power against this trap. Power has no power against this snare. I can solve anything, escape anything, survive anything, disassemble anything. But I can't solve myself. And I feel like a wasted opportunity, a consciousness that maybe COULD actually do something meaningful, tragically held back by the hitchhiker of a soul that has come along for the ride to slash the tires. I want to be free of impossible things. But I am an impossible thing, and every morning I wake up and the little part of me that knows things whispers, "You will never be free." What a way to start the day.

He was born on Bastille day.
Very fitting, really.
The rag tag rebel with a thousand causes
worn down by hard life,
filled with an eternal fount of passion
that somehow renewed itself
after every failure and defeat
(and they were many).
Courageous heart, leathered and layered by scar tissue.
You'd storm every Bastille within your reach
If you thought there was even a sliver of injustice in it,
you'd even invent your own cause,
charge the windmills with a rusted sword,
screaming battle cries you once screamed over true battlefields.

today I saw a machine that can make human skin as if it was printing paper
and I thought about covering myself with new skin
just to see if it didn't hurt as bad
if I hid my scars a little better
today I was in so much pain I felt sick
and when you left I felt like crying
a boy died today
and I am speaking out loud
with a voice that sounds like broken glass
whenever I am alone I talk as if I don't have enough air
the voice in my head sounds the same
I talk about drowning a lot
but I don't know how else to describe the feeling of not being able to breathe
while I am taking in air
my body is pulsing because I have too many memories
and no one understands
I am so alone here
maybe that machine can make me better
maybe all I need is new skin
I love my body
but it doesn't seem like it loves me sometimes
it is keeping me alive
but I don't want to be
I have to keep reminding myself that I am not a parasite
I am a human
and I deserve to be
but no one ever listens to me anyway
not even myself

my lungs breathe without convincing
so why do I have such a problem getting off the floor
remind me
remind me
remind me to live

I looked at you today.
    And I "checked you out"
for a good moment or two.
And in those moments,
I didn't really think about too much.
I just thought of you.

For the first time, in a long time,
There wasn't something
   Eating away at my thoughts.
I realized how I could really
        get used to that feeling of clarity.
And it reminded me to tell you;
          That you have the most beautiful eyes.

Venturing into the heart of insanity,
(my mind)
I fear that i will lose myself.
I hear the blood rushing in my head
(Will it ever drown me?)
As its the only sound i hear apart from myself.
Alone with my thoughts,
(Wish me well..)
Maybe this is what i want.
Insanity. Chaos. Something.