With his eloquent tongue,
Quick wit,
And grinning eyes.
He made us love him.
He made us feel loved.
If only for a moment.
Then it got ugly.
Suddenly there were questions.
Fighting amongst ourselves.
Betraying one another.
Never trusting.
No one.
Not even ourselves.
He made us weak.
Afraid.
Spiteful.
He turned us into something we're not.
He played us all.
He crushed us.
Or tried to.
Without a thought.
Without a care.
With his crippled black soul,
Deadened eyes,
And withered self.
Hidden behind a handsome mask,
A gentle hand,
His lies.
His fear drove him.
His fear of being realized.
His fear of being alone,
And others seeing him,
As he really is.
For he is dark,
He is apathetic,
He doesn't feel what others feel.
He cannot feel remorse,
Except for in fear of himself.
For he only cares for himself.  
He claims he doesn't care.
He claims to be free.
Free of restraints.
Free of emotion.
Free of love.
But for what he claims is free,
Is imprisoned in fear.
For he is a coward.
Terribly frightened.
Afraid of others.
What they might say.
What they might think.
But mainly he is afraid of himself.
For he knows his noxious soul,
Will one day find him.
Abandoned.
Exposed.
The day he knows he is unloved.
The day he knows he is alone.
Alone with no one but himself.
The one he fears the most.
He will weep.
For nothing is stronger.
Nor more horrifying.
Than facing one's greatest fear.
To open one's eyes.
To face all alone.
The one you despise the most.
To see in the mirror,
The demon you've become,
As no fear is stronger,
Than that of oneself.

and isn't strange

that i'm sitting in my car

in a parking garage

thinking of you and missing

your stupid plumb apple face

or maybe it's carved from soap

or shaved glass

fragmented by pieces

collected in bindles

followed by bundles

of the joy i used to have

of the sleep i used to get

of the energy i used to take

and isn't it strange how

i have no desire to have you

all to myself for you are

an automous being that

breathes and thinks and acts

wholy different than me

but i can't help but miss you

and your kiwi colored eyes

with the seeds cut out

dipped in a ring of gold

and like smegal i yearn to

hold that precious ring of gold

in my shriveled hands

even though i know

it'll corrupt me

but i'm drawn to mordor

all the same



that's what it's like

missing you



wanting to go there

even when I shouldn't



and isn't it strange

that my world is shifting

complicit and complicated

a deficit of the senses

a pull from the void

a shake of the head

with such filigree i am sated

but blinded by such yearning

to touch your hot skin

feel it rest

against mine



again but



maybe i'm too addicted to sparks

Tricksy, you are—false—
We hates it, yes we hates it,
Hates it forever!