I could spew words,
But they don't mean a thing;
Not in this worst moment of pain.
All I can do is hug my children tighter tonight,
Count my blessings,
All the while mourning yours.
But is the chill that runs through me a selfish grief?
A need to express myself, to relate my own fears to your loss?
Not a gift, not to ease your pain,
But to try in vain to understand my own?
I don't feel lucky, I feel guilty,
Because it's so close to home right now,
And it reminds you just how precarious life is,
How precious,
Yet how dictated by forces beyond our control.
My god, I am sorry for your loss.

I try not to dread meeting you there,
But the harder I look in the mirror the less I want to leave.
I want to stay, make bread, howl at the moon,
Anything but face the one I've hurt,
And yet I know I'm coming for you.

But will you hurt me back?
Use this opportunity to surrender your own hurt,
And make peace by breaking mine?
I gave up that life so long ago,
But you're here, now, and that life is mine again.

How far do I go?
Far enough to gain the energy to run from you into the distance,
Or just to your door?
Who will be there?
You, them... God, us?
Will I find us there?

It weeps flakes of time on the
unforgiving floor below....
     like leaves never fading
              stagnant greens linger
deformed by there empty moments

Contorted panels showing the pain
of there absence from the world.
              A glass panel cracked beyond
its sight, distorted reflections collect
fractured rainbows never reaching
                                      there *** of gold.

When the wind cuts upon its shadow,
   this door creaks open, falling to splinters
beyond its creation there is nothing waiting
just an empty space...
           Shut for so long lingering in denial
that beyond it lies nothing of interest..
    it lays on its hinges, a dead tree felled...

Show him your knife, oh! lovely killer, he wouldn't mind,

Seeing your weapon of destruction before the bull is felled,

How much should he suffer,not any more swiftly bring to an end

Was your's love?In such ingenious disguises, how clever!


Well polished and sharpened is the weapon, such meticulous care,

For the precision expected, never ever you missed your target.

A gleaming cutting edge, you sure want to make him proud.

Now I  see this clearly, the magnificence darkness processes!


If a sanguinary end of love life is thy pleasure, may thy will prevail,

Yes your love has been expressed tarantula like , from the day one.

The dark angel, with a vengeful gift, you are, the dark bloom too.

Yet another martyr of love, all his pain equals to your one searing kiss.