the best time to realize
when
what
causes one to experience
the meaning of to be
deathly afraid
is
exactly
when
you are not


joy purifying
enfolds you, envelops, indeed,
you
are subsumed, a sense of being
secondary
to the unusual flooding of the
dry riverbed in your head that’s
been dry since you can’t remember

when

when you understand
that one cannot truly
write only love poetry
to precise excess
unless
admittedly you love
to excess,
otherwise
you are incapable of making
good
love poems

when

you are not
within that
rare off the beaten yes trackless meniscus curve,
in
country
of first love
  of
only
true love

You see,
I seem to have caught
the deathly hug of hubris
I know everything
But what does it all mean?
The pleasures of life go right above my head
And time drips from my fingertips
Plip, plop, plip
I am a blip
And this hug,
Why does it make everything so sad?

There is no escape...
A creature of evil—the dark!
You roam through the night well hidden—
ghostlike!
Your strike –
a deathly finesse! Crushed, smitten,
he falls down – your victim, your mark.
There is no escape!

My heart lies with the ones
who play with fire
blackened fingers
complement my eyes

Keep the shadow near
by our desire
we don't need to sleep
if we don't rise

I can tell you want to
get much higher
I've got what you need
you know the price

Angel, tell me
how do you trust a liar?
Tears and prayers
caught between the skies

My heart lies ablaze
in Heaven's pyre
lonely ashes
lingering
they complement my eyes

"Useless"
Why don't you use less

Our Father,
Papa in Heaven

He told us to love
Not to discourage or anger neighbors

He told us to encourage
For we are encouraged,

Deadly, the word:
Useless

So two words:
Use, less

The dusty colours,

Lure my eyes to the deep void,

Where deathly eyes lurk.

I'm still miserable.

don't get me wrong -
there are pauses, and there are breaks.
there are beams of light, there are glimmers of hope
and there are days where happiness is so golden,
I can practically feel it salting on my tounge,
dancing in my brain
and some small part of me almost begins to believe that
things have changed -
it's going to be better now.

but of course, night is still well and alive,
in it's deathly gloom.
and of course, the petals always plunge through
in a sickening cold snap
and I am brutally reminded that
spring
is just season, not a way of life.

and although the why is given a different name -
boys, alcohol, displacement, bad job -
i find myself surrending to the currents
that is winter days, where sunlight
burns to cold, midnight ash within a few hours.
every few weeks or so, the darkness returns
pinching out the flame that i had spent so much time trying to reignite and
oh, not again.

but again and again, the night falls,
the stars spiraling out of place until
the cold and the heaviness have anchored in my chest
like a yawning need for eternal day -
I'm suddenly left wondering if i should even fight it.