I feel like I don't belong here.
I can't place it--
Maybe too pure,
Maybe too evil,
Maybe too ill.
Its hard to say
When every word flung
Wildly around is a
Contradiction.
Too sensitive,
Too changeable.
The balance causes so
Much cognitive dissonance,
And the more I approach my heart,
The more it alludes me on the horizon.
Colorless,
These words ignite a
Flame
Stronger than any pigment.
I am worthless.
I am a treasure.
I am worthy.
I am pitiful.
I am beautiful.
I am a fool.
I am genius.
I am every word they say to me,
Yet I feel like
I am none.
Their icy words spoken with
Frozen hearts
Set my teeth chattering.

Nothing can protect me from this
Impeding cold.
The energy is inexhaustible.
Their ranks are numberless.
The fight goes on,
Teaching me the person I am
Is ought not to be.
Destroy the anguish
Mistaken as beauty.
They take my heart from me--
Brutally beating the bruises,
Formulaically tearing the
Gashes open with silver knives,
A gray harder than the
Silver of the moon--
Harder than the silver of my heart.
I am bruised,
Broken,
Wanting to be gone.
And they laugh at my pain.
They don't believe me when I say
I have nothing to live for.
All I need to do is to
Live up to the low bar they set,
But that's never good enough.
The words bleed out of me,
Yet they remain unsaid.
They would taunt more
If they knew their wickedness.
Sleep saves me from this endless cycle of
Torture.
Engulfed by
Vivid of imaginations of who I am,
I forget for a time
What they told me.
Meet me in this innocent state of existence,
Escaped from the pain.
I wish I knew how to
Avoid their toxic remedies
And the poisonous reminders
That they own me,
And will decide who I am.

But poets tend to exaggerate:
Tell me how it really is.

Slow warm decay of days passing
this soft cotton music, everyday lull
does not fit
does not fit
the hard final chill I know is coming
the grinding of bone against gravity and time.

No matter what words I scatter
luminous pearl pathways
will get ground to dust, eventually,
under marching boots.

You fool yourself,
thinking they will gleam forever.

We are so alive right now.
This cruel and vibrant world
that we have all built together--
how can it end? How can it crumble?
How can we die?
Why can we die?
We can all feel it does not fit.

The old part of me is dead:
The part of me that loves you.

I put him to rest on a grassy hill
Where the butterflies flock to roses.

There he lies, under the tomb of a dead tree,
Steadily being feasted on by cankerworms.

He is silent, he is free,
For he has passed the door

Into a realm of calm tranquility
Where pain makes more sense

And reasons why are no longer needed
For he lives in the Kingdom of Night.

She rules there and invited him
With a kiss and a nibble on the ear.

He could not refuse her lovely black lips
But he knew not where to tread

So she shoved him down with words
Of ice and sorrow and blame.

There he lies with her through eternal night
Caught up in the death of his life:

Her, the one, the only, the Moon
That fought the Night.

That old part of me is dead now:
The part of me that loves you.

He is silent, he is sleeping,
For he has passed the door

But the ghost of myself
Still whispers his love for you

Ever more.