You were an illusion I was hanging on to.

I don’t know how, but you held me captivated.
Your eyes caught my attention and I was enchanted.
You seemed so certain, so at ease, so in place - it was a lie.

Every word out of your mouth became a lie.
I clung to them all, searching for
hoping to find a truth in what you said.
You had me fooled. It wasn’t real

Nothing with you ever was -
Not your words, you weren’t sincere.
Not your interest, it was deceit.
Not your charm, it was an act.
Not your actions, they were a play.

Yes - if nothing else, you know how to put on a play.

You made me feel sad - sad for myself for ever allowing you
Allowing you to touch upon the border of my heart
Allowing you to occupy places in my mind
To dominate too much time of my day
To make me care.

Now you make me feel sad - sad for you
Sad for you because you’ve wasted such good company
Because you’ve nothing to show for your behaviour but malcontent where you could have affection
Because what you portray yourself as makes you uncomfortable and it’s starting to show
Because what you’ve done has dampened your spirits
Because what you can’t have you now realize you want
But most of all

Because your facade is killing you, and it’s starting to seep through to you.
And it shows on your face.
And it takes root in your heart.
And you can’t change it anymore
This is something you can’t fix.

And the worst part for you is the best part for me:

I don’t care anymore.
The illusion broke and we both stepped on the shards
Irreparable, irreplaceable
Gone forever.
Like snow to water, we return to our root state
of indifference.

Devilish torment -- her body is my lament.
She crawls beneath the cracks and finds
The dark cellar, where my "worst" ferments.
She feeds it as it rots,
Just to make its wine more bitter . . .
Squeezed from the finest lies,
        Designed to make an addict from a quitter.

Like a dark and tempting vacuum
                That my soul cannot escape,
Attractive in its repulsion,
                 It's a part of me that loves the way it hates.
Masturbatory and selfish,
With a thirst that can't be quenched . . .
She finds the spots within me,
                   That make even deities flinch.
Their knees crack and crumble,
                   At its all-consuming "nothing". . .
I never knew my zero could be so wholly unbecoming.

She, or it, will surely be my undoing.
Yet, somehow, that keeps me moving.
So uncomfortably I'll admit . . .
It's the brutal nature of it all,
That I find so disturbingly soothing.

i.


not bad,
i commented to myself as i watched you do your thing
for the first time ever ;
not bad was my way to say
extraordinary
still is today
i have standards, you see and —
well...
they were met when i
heard you say,
"that's only half what
i can do."

let's get this straight:
i was the best at what i do until
you came around ;
it's not like i'm mad though —
quite the opposite 
in fact.


ii.


here's something else:
i have always liked the way your eyes
shot daggers
even when you were smiling ;
a death stare, they named it and, you know,
i won't call them wrong —
i'm rather fluent with the concepts of
death
and staring myself, after all.


ah,
do you remember?
when we spoke to each other —
it was always a sparring of
eyes
rather than words.


iii.


a fact:
you have been called cold
more often than
you have been called pleasant ;
i know  —
it's not like you'd disagree
not like you'd be stupid enough to
deny ;
cold is a comfortable shadow
to hide in,
something people like us
wear as a coat or
a scarf
from july to june.


now,
there's this saying that the addition of
two negative objects
turns them a positive
result ;
i'm not much of a scholar so, honey,
what's on your mind?


iv.


i get it now,
if i'm propellers
you are wings —
rather than a mirror, we're
distorted reflects
a thing evolution knows
a great deal about ;
this yearning is the aspect of you
i'd wish to keep
bottled up ;
"what for?" you'd ask.


no,
yearning is not a thing
i'm a stranger to ;
i've yearned for many things including
strength
sleep
serotonin
and you —
i've been struggling
to make them mine, though
perhaps because i'm never really trying.


v.


that's how you do it:
you take what you want with
clawed hands
accomplish miracles with
thunderous silence —
an entity of cruel fairness,
icy anger but —
what you want is a complicated
thing
with definite shape to your eyes
but blurry to those of
others.


okay,
i'm neither believer nor seer but
here's a little prediction :
the day you are satisfied is the day
hellmouth
shuts down upon us all and
half of me
prays for it.


vi.


about extremes —
some will say grey is a better shade and
though i confess
it does have its charms,
it still has to paint me a picture more striking
than a soul with
adamentine purpose.

see —
i stare as you pass by,
terrific in beauty
beautiful in hardness and
off —
goes my heart, sanity, ego
and shirt.

Put your ***** hands all over me
Creep, scratch my anatomy
Make me your philosophy
I'll make you study
Practice and theory
No jury nor pity
Just  a final probe
As we hope n cope
With the theory or our would be

When I think of you,
I still hear your deep rasp
A muffled, familiar roar
Carrying the weight of your words-
Yes, when I remember  you
I smell your half extinguished cigarette
And feel your warm touch
A familiar burn

Her hair, beautiful.
Eyes sparkling, lips smiling.
I love this woman.